


I'd Ask You To Be True

by chandy



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Brotherly Steve Harrington & Dustin Henderson, Dustin Henderson Is the Best, Good Parent Jim "Chief" Hopper, Good Parent Joyce Byers, Heavy Angst, Major Illness, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parental Jim "Chief" Hopper, Protective Dustin Henderson, Sick Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington & Dustin Henderson Friendship, Steve Harrington Has Bad Parents, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Steve Harrington-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:54:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 258,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23314225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chandy/pseuds/chandy
Summary: As Steve navigates through a serious, life-altering situation, he is shown love and support like he's never know before. Dustin, and the rest of their chosen family, rally around him when he needs it most. Despite the circumstances, Steve feels pretty lucky.
Relationships: Brotherly Steve Harrington and Dustin Henderson, Steve Harrington & Everyone, Steve Harrington & The Party, Steve Harrington and parental Jim Hopper
Comments: 408
Kudos: 263





	1. Turn Away

Summer break had barely just begun, and Dustin was already restless. If things had gone as planned, while the rest of The Party was occupied today with various family obligations, he would be sitting across from one of his favorite people in the world shoveling pancakes into his mouth during the celebratory breakfast Steve had promised him to mark the end of the school year.

  
Except, he hadn’t heard from Steve in several days. Dustin wasn’t too worried initially because the end of the school year can be a chaotic time, and he was assured by Mike and Will that Nancy and Jonathan said that they had seen him about, seemingly fine and unscathed. But when the numerous phone and radio calls went unanswered – even the calls made on the channel they reserved especially just for them – Dustin began to panic just a little.

  
“Screw this,” he muttered to himself as he released the kickstand and threw a leg over his bike. He pedaled determinedly to his destination. Steve had never been out of contact for this long, nor ignored any radio calls – even in the middle of the night – from The Party, fearing, as they all did, that what lurked beneath Hawkins would come back someday. His older friend always jumped in as their protector without thought to his own peril. For him not to respond… He just _knew_ something was off.

  
The fear was not allayed when his bike skidded to a halt in front of the Harrington residence. The maroon BMW was nowhere in sight. Not that Steve wasn’t allowed to leave his house, but if he did, it was usually with one or all the kids in tow.

  
Weighing his next option, Dustin aimed his bike towards the center of town. He pumped his legs as fast as he could go still trying half-heartedly to contact Steve with his headset.

  
The faint crackle that echoed back was the only break in the deafening silence. Sighing heavily, he propped his bike against the brick building and whisked open the double glass doors. “Is he here?”

  
“I assume you are referring to our esteemed Chief?” Flo eyed him patiently over her bifocals. It wasn’t unusual for a middle schooler or two, or even a high school student to grace the police station to chat with Jim. Flo knew it was none of her business, so she didn’t ask. She casually pointed her index finger to his office.

  
“Thanks!” Dustin rushed out. He burst through the wooden office door without knocking. “Steve’s MIA!”

  
Hopper eased his chair back and swung his legs off the desk. “Look, I’m going to have to call you back.” He dropped the handset back into its cradle and moved his body to face the curly haired boy. “Say again?”

  
“Steve! Aren’t you listening?” Jim just rolled his eyes at the boy to continue. “I haven’t spoken to him or seen him in days. No one has. He’s not answering my calls. It’s not like him! His car’s not as his house, and – “

  
“Kid,” Hopper interrupted gruffly. “Kid, calm down!”

  
“Something’s wrong, I know it!” The lisp got progressively more pronounced the more worked up he got. “What if it came back? What if Steve’s hurt or trapped or something? He’s saved all our lives a million times. I would never forgive myself if…”

  
Dustin trailed off, not having to go into specifics. It was an unspoken fear they all lived with every day. Most of the times it was manageable, and their terror was unfounded, but every once in awhile the nightmares swallowed them up and one of them had to be talked off the ledge.

  
Hopper eyed him warily but softened as he saw the moisture collecting in Dustin’s eyes. He vaguely wondered if Steve had any clue how much he meant to this kid. He decided the teen in fact did, and that’s why Dustin was standing before him now because Steve had always been careful with, appreciative of, and slightly in awe of the kid’s – all the kids’ – loyalty and love for him.

  
Hopper was unsure how much he could divulge without violating Steve’s trust, but he knew that he had to tell the boy before him something to put his mind at ease. He lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply before speaking. “Look, Dustin…Mrs. Byers and I were with Steve yesterday.”

  
“Is he okay?”

  
The Chief exhaled a plume of smoke and watched it curl lazily towards the ceiling. “We’re all getting together for dinner tomorrow, remember? You’ll see him then.”

  
It wasn’t lost on Dustin that his question wasn’t directly answered. “But…”

  
Hopper tapped ash into the glass dish on his desk. “Do you trust me?” Dustin furrowed his brow, not following the abrupt change in topic. “Do you trust Steve?”

  
He looked offended at the mere notion of the question of his dedication to his friend. “Of course! No doubt! With my life!”

  
Hopper leaned his arm on the desk, staring hard at the younger boy. “He’s got a lot to deal with. He needs to get some rest right now. You can talk to him tomorrow.”

  
“What does that mean? If he should be resting, then why isn’t he at home? You’re not making sense!” Dustin’s arms waved wildly through the air, belying his increasing agitation.

  
“Dustin!” Both voices were increasing in volume, so Jim made a conscious effort to pull it back, realizing they were both stressed about the situation for very different reasons. “I’m asking you, just for one day, to let. It. Be.”

  
Dustin opened his mouth to protest, but Hopper held up a hand in a stop motion. Dustin scoffed as the policeman picked up his phone again and began to dial. He wasn’t going to get any further, and he knew it. He left the office with his shoulders slumped, defeated.

  
That conversation had, on one hand, made him feel better that Steve had not been mauled by a Demogorgon in the middle of the night. But, on the other hand, it raised his worry exponentially. He needed to think.

  
Hopper and Mrs. Byers knew what was going on with Steve, whatever it was, but none of the kids did. Dustin would know. He checked. Whatever it was, Steve needed ‘rest’. He had seemed more withdrawn and quiet lately. Dustin figured the whole college situation was getting him down, but maybe he was way off the mark.

  
Dustin rode his bike out of the town at a much slower pace than before. He wondered aimlessly, not paying attention to where he was headed, too consumed by his thoughts. His headset still laid overtop his hat, unused.

  
He had enough respect for Steve, that if he had told Dustin directly that he needed some time off to be alone or whatever, he would’ve granted him that without hesitation. But Steve _hadn’t_ said that to him. He hadn’t said much of anything. And that, in itself, had stoked the fires of his fear.

  
It was true. Dustin could wait patiently to see Steve tomorrow night at the Byers’, but patience had never been one of his virtues. And besides, Steve would be almost impossible to get alone to have a real conversation with the entire family surrounding them. The chances of him opening up would be shut down as he would do what he always did; plaster on a fake smile and assure everyone that he was okay so as not to be a burden. It was a behavior so ingrained into him by neglectful parents that Dustin’s face flamed at the mere idea.

  
It was as if Steve felt undeserving of any sort of love and attention directed his way. Once Dustin realized just how alone and uncared for the abandoned teen really was, he inserted himself into Steve’s life, not taking no for an answer. It wasn’t long before the rest of The Party followed his example. Steve was so damn lovable and had such a heart of gold, it was impossible to stay away. There was something in it for him, too. Steve was so full of affection, with no one to bestow it on until Dustin and The Party came along, and genuinely kind and generous, it was a wonderful feeling to just be in his company. To realize that someone like Steve cared as deeply as he did was really special.

  
Claudia Henderson was great. Fantastic, even! But she could not fill in the missing part of him left by being fatherless and without siblings. It was a role that Steve stepped into seamlessly and unknowingly. The give and take of their relationship healed the holes left in their respective souls. It was such a beautiful and pure thing that it must be protected at all costs. And Dustin was so damn grateful! He was grateful for every bit of (bad) brotherly advice. Every instance Steve showed him how to do something (like his perfect hair or the best yet – when it’s time for him to drive!). Every fond “shithead” or “dipshit” thrown his way. Every car ride. Dustin was just so damn grateful for _Steve_!

  
There was very little he could do to repay him, but he could be a good friend. He could _be there_ – no matter what. It was this thought that spurred him on throughout the afternoon, meandering from one Hawkins landmark to another, in search of his friend.

  
Finally, as his bike crested the hill leading up to the quarry, he spotted the BMW parked facing the water. Dustin dropped his bike unceremoniously on the gravel and trudged his weary legs up the slope, relief and dread simultaneously coursing through his body. There were really only three reasons to come up here: to make out, do drugs, or to not be found for awhile. Since Steve had shown no desire recently for the first two, Dustin knew it was the latter, which meant something must be _really wrong_.

  
Steve’s car was empty and silent, not even faint ticking coming from the engine, indicating it had been here awhile. Steve was nowhere in sight. Dustin spun around, searching the area, but they were out in the open. He approached the back of the car slowly, peaking around both sides to find them bare. He walked along the right side of the maroon vehicle, and his breath stuttered as he rounded the front. Sitting on the ground in front of the car with his head resting on the bumper, eyes closed, was the object of his search. At first glance, he looked dead.

  
“Steve,” Dustin whispered hesitantly. There was no sound or movement from the other boy. No indication that he had heard his name called at all. “Steve,” Dustin tried again.

  
Still nothing. Dustin crouched down and sat beside his friend, reaching a hand out tentatively to his shoulder.

  
Steve jerked violently at the touch and whipped his head around, throwing up an arm protectively. He squinted and blinked twice, becoming more aware of his surroundings. “Dustin?”

  
“Yeah, buddy. It’s me.” Dustin kept his hand on Steve’s shoulder. He felt the trembling underneath his fingertips. Steve’s eyes were unnaturally wide as he went back to staring straight ahead. He reminded Dustin of a frightened animal, so he chose his next words very carefully, keeping his voice soft. “I’ve missed you, Steve. I was so scared when I couldn’t get ahold of you. I even went to Hopper to report you missing.”

  
Steve flinched and drew in a sharp breath. The guilt and despair were breaking through the numbness blanketing him. “I’m sorry I made you worry. So, you spoke to Hopper?” Dustin hummed an affirmation. “And he told you?”

  
“Where to find you?” Dustin misinterpreted the implications of Steve’s query. “No. In fact, he told me to leave you alone.”

  
Dustin’s irritated tone and stubbornness were so achingly normal that Steve couldn’t help letting a small laugh escape. As far as sounds go, it was barely more than a loud breath. “But of course, you didn’t listen.”

  
“Well, no.” Dustin drew both knees up and wrapped his arms around them. “But if you want me to leave, I will. I know we’re going to see each other tomorrow night anyway, and now that I know you’re safe, I’m good.”

  
The blood seemed to drain from Steve’s face at the mention of the next day. Dustin found it all perplexing but knew not to push. He had never seen his friend so quiet…and still. Usually, Steve was a ball of frenetic energy, quick with a sarcastic retort. Neither boy was capable of speaking without the aid of their hands. Now Steve’s hands laid prostrate in his lap, the only movement tremors that started at the slender wrists and went out the fingertips.

  
Dustin laid a hand onto Steve’s to still the motion and offer a gesture of support. The digits were icy to the touch. “Hey, whatever it is…you can talk to me. I’m here for you no matter what,” he echoed the thoughts in his head from earlier.

  
More often than not, Steve was saying those exact words to him. But Dustin wanted him to know that, despite their age differences, he was capable of reciprocating. He may be technically a child and not able to do much, but he could still _listen_.

  
Steve’s gaze landed on the pile of hands in his lap. Dustin studied his friend’s face and took note of how pale he was. How the black smudges under his eyes had deepened. Steve’s angular jaw worked against itself, clearly warring with himself internally. Steve exhaled deeply. “You’re gonna know by tomorrow night anyway, but I guess you deserve to know first and not have it sprung on you.”

  
The panic crept up Dustin’s throat until it wrapped its tendrils around his windpipe, cutting off all air. Whatever Steve had to say was bad, very bad, and all the sudden Dustin wasn’t so sure he wanted to hear it. But he forced himself to keep quiet as he witnessed the teen become more visibly distressed. Something was clearly weighing heavily on Steve.

  
“I, um…I don’t know where to start,” Steve weakly confessed.

  
“How ‘bout at the beginning,” Dustin gently prompted.

  
Steve gave a brief nod, still keeping his eyes trained downwards. “Yeah, okay. Remember over Christmas break when you noticed all those bruises and you were worried I was getting beat up again like with Billy, or bullied or something?”

  
“Yeah! Was someone hurting you? _Is_ someone hurting you? Is that why Hopper’s involved?” Dustin’s breath sped up and he squeezed Steve’s hand tighter, bracing for the response.

  
Steve shook his head vehemently, immediately dispelling the notion. “No, they weren’t. They _aren’t_. I promise!” Dustin let out a whoosh of air he’d been holding. Steve had never lied to him. “But it did get me thinking…I know I’m klutzy, but over the next couple months I started realizing that they were always just kinda there. And not because I necessarily hit into anything. I _couldn’t’ve_ hit into anything. They were in such _weird_ places.”

  
Steve paused to take a breath and collect his thoughts. “I started to get really tired and out of breath, but I thought it was just basketball and school kicking my ass. Plus, you rugrats run me ragged.”

  
A ghost of a smile touched Steve’s lips. Dustin mirrored it, knowing that the words were said fondly. But the smile quickly faded as he recalled just how common it was to see Steve nodding off during a D &D session or a movie lately. How often he had woken him up in the early evening with an impromptu walkie talkie call. Or how, every time he left Mike’s basement, he had to pause at the top of the stairs, blaming his lack of air on his recurrent bronchitis.

  
“Anyways, I didn’t make a big deal of it. Figured, I’d bring it up at my yearly checkup which I did. The doctor drew some blood and I kinda forgot about it. I really hate needles,” Steve muttered more to himself. He shuddered and raised his head to stare at the dipping sun. His perfectly coiffed hair danced in the breeze. Dustin watched it, fascinated. It was almost hypnotic, watching the brown strands float upwards and then settle back down perfectly on his head.

  
Steve’s throat made an audible click when he swallowed. “After some more bloodwork, I got a call that he wanted me to go see a specialist. I thought it’d be a waste of time, so I put it off a little.” His lips continued moving, but no words were coming out. It was as if he was becoming detached from his own body.

  
“So, did you wind up going,” Dustin gently prodded.

  
“Mmhmm. Yeah. Yeah, I did.”

  
Dustin wasn’t entirely sure what was causing Steve to start to suddenly clam up again, but he wasn’t entirely clueless, either. He summoned every bit of patience he could muster and tried to transmit it through his body. Both his hands were now clasping Steve’s frigid fingers. “And?”

  
“Um, they did some tests. And then they wanted to do more, but I needed someone to drive me and I called Hopper but he couldn’t so…. Mrs. Byers took me.” As Steve’s words came tumbling out of his mouth at increasing speed, his chest started to rise and fall rapidly.

  
Steve was on the verge of hyperventilating. Dustin tried to get Steve to look at him, but he either wouldn’t, or couldn’t. He drew air in through his nose and blew it out of his mouth, trying to get the older teen to mimic him. “Breathe, Steve. That’s it. In. Out. In. Out.” While Steve was still settling down, he took the time to fill in the blanks. “So that’s why Hopper and Mrs. Byers were with you yesterday? They took you to the tests?”

  
“Yes. No. I mean…The tests were last week. They said I shouldn’t come alone yesterday. Hopper and Mrs. Byers insisted, but I shouldn’t’ve…Hopper…his daughter…I didn’t know…They came with me when…when…the results…”

  
Steve let out a choking sound that morphed into a pathetic whimper. Dustin’s heart leapt into his throat, then plummeted into his stomach. He had an idea where this might be headed all along, but he had prayed with everything in him that he was wrong. He never wanted to be wrong about anything so badly in his life.

  
Up until this point, Steve had avoided looking directly at Dustin, choosing to focus his attention anywhere else - on the horizon or their hands or the ground. Now Steve was staring directly at him, the moisture pooling in his large hazel eyes and magnifying all the pain and hurt inside. He was clearly struggling to get the words out, his voice breaking, “Dusty, I have cancer.”

  
Dustin’s mouth gaped open and closed like a fish as he tried to process the words. It was like someone had hit the pause button on the world. His ears rang, blocking out any noise, and everything seemed to be in slow motion. His vision was fuzzy at the edges and he could feel his heartbeat in his head. Nothing seemed real. Not Steve. Anyone but Steve.

  
Steve remained eerily still, not even blinking, desperately trying to hold it together in front of the younger boy, but his quivering lip gave him away. A tear slipped out unchecked and rolled slowly down his pale cheek. It was like a record scratch that broke the dam.

  
Dustin lunged at Steve and threw his arms around his shaking shoulders. “Son of a bitch, Steve. Shit. No.” Steve’s sobs grew in volume and intensity as Dustin threaded one small hand into the thick brown locks and used the other hand to squeeze him tighter. Steve tried to pull away in shame, but Dustin refused to let him. How many times had Steve done the same for him? There was many a night Dustin had cried into his shoulder over something much less serious, and he held him as he railed against the injustices of the world. Steve had always been strong for him – always _there_ \- and the brother that he always wanted, but never knew he needed. Dustin hoped – _thought_ – Steve felt the same way. Two kindred souls that had found each other.

  
As emotionally mature as Dustin was, it was almost too overwhelming. Torrents of emotions washed over him in waves, crashing into him until he couldn’t discern what he was feeling. He didn’t know if he could handle this. But he had to. For Steve. He was the most important person in Dustin’s life. Maybe even more so than his mother. Steve had put his life on the line for him. For Lucas. For Max. For El and Mike and Will and Nancy and Jonathan and all of them, like his life was less important. But it wasn’t. _He_ wasn’t. Steve _mattered_ to him. He mattered a whole lot.

  
How alone and frightened and devastated Steve must be feeling. There was absolutely nothing Dustin could do to fix this. But he could _be there_. As Steve’s cries slowly subsided, Dustin proclaimed as such. “I can’t promise you it’s gonna be okay. Jesus, of course it isn’t okay. But you’re not alone, alright? You’re not alone.”

  
“You’re just a kid. You’re all just kids. You shouldn’t have to deal with this,” Steve protested weakly.

  
“Yeah, well, so are you. And neither should you,” Dustin firmly stated. Steve was trying to pull back again, but this time he didn’t fight him. It wasn’t often Steve let himself be held, and the physical closeness was probably making him uncomfortable.

  
Somewhat embarrassed by his breakdown, Steve pushed playfully on Dustin’s shoulder to diffuse his awkwardness. “Nerd,” he smirked lovingly.

  
“You’re welcome, dumbass,” Dustin retaliated.

  
“It’s getting late. I should get you home,” Steve said, just noticing the deepening purple of the sky. “Go ahead and throw your bike in the trunk.”

  
“When’s the last time you ate?”

  
“Huh?”

  
“Food. Sustenance.” Dustin stood up and raised his eyebrows impatiently.

  
Steve rose to his feet and brushed the dust and rock fragments from his jeans. “I don’t…yesterday?”

  
Dustin looked even more annoyed. “Steve, you gotta start taking care of yourself. You always do this! You need your strength. C’mon,” he held his palm out. “We’re going to go get something to eat. I’d say my treat, but I have like, seventy-five cents. Sooooo, I guess you’re paying, but you’re also eating – and talking. I have loads of questions.”

  
Steve conceded, knowing it wasn’t an argument he was willing to have despite his lack of appetite. “I’m impressed that you’ve held all your questions this long, Henderson. Okay, we’ll go. But only if you use one of those quarters to call your mom when we get there.”

  
Dustin smiled brightly. “Deal!”

  
“Are you getting in or what,” Steve yelled as he turned the key in the ignition.

  
Dustin hurriedly slammed the lid on the trunk and hopped into the passenger seat. The pair rode to the diner in total silence, both with too much running through their minds. But it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence.

  
Steve waited in the car as Dustin used the payphone booth at the corner of the parking lot. When Dustin hung up the phone, Steve shut the car off and started to open his door. Dustin rushed over to finish opening the door and reached a hand in to guide Steve up. Steve ignored his hand and instead gave him a confused look. Before Steve could close the car door, Dustin reached behind him and pushed it shut, causing the keys to slip out of Steve’s grasp. “I got ‘em. My fault. I’ll get ‘em.”

  
Steve continued to stare, befuddled. “Why are you being weird?”

  
“Mea culpa. After you.” Dustin swept his hand out in a grand gesture. As soon as Steve passed him with a quizzical glance, Dustin rushed up behind him and placed one hand on the small of his back and the other gripped his elbow.

  
“What the hell are you doing? Stop it,” Steve hissed, chagrined.

  
“Sorry,” Dustin threw his hands up placatingly. But when Steve reached for the door, Dustin beat him to it. “I got it! I got it! Don’t strain yourself.”

  
Shit. Suddenly Steve understood what was happening. “Stop it! Enough! This is exactly what I don’t want! I have cancer! I’m not completely helpless!” His sudden outburst sent forks clattering onto plates as all heads turned toward the pair.

  
Dustin couldn’t hide the hurt that flashed across his features. “Sorry, man. I didn’t mean-“

  
“No, I’m sorry. I know you’re only trying to help, but I don’t want it to be like this. Okay, Dustin? Please? Now, can we go sit down before my head bursts into flames from embarrassment,” Steve pleaded with his eyes.

  
They slid into a booth opposite one another and a waitress appeared out of nowhere to take their order. “I’m going to have a burger and fries and a chocolate shake. Steve?”

  
“I’m not really-“

  
Dustin wasn’t having it. He was insistent that Steve feed himself. “I swear to God, Steve, if you say you’re not hungry I will personally pry your mouth open and make you eat liver and onions.” Steve just blinked at him owlishly, too stunned for anything else. Dustin turned towards the waitress and said sweetly, “He’ll have the same. What flavor of shake?”

  
“Um, vanilla I guess.” The waitress eyed him hesitantly. Steve just shrugged. “He’s the boss.”

  
The waitress just chuckled. “Boy, your little brother has you wrapped around his finger, doesn’t he?”

  
Dustin positively beamed at that. It made his day whenever someone mistook them for brothers. Steve never corrected anyone, so Dustin suspected that he secretly enjoyed it, too. Steve fiddled with the menu absentmindedly.

  
Dustin slapped his hand on the menu to grab Steve’s attention. “So, let’s talk.”

  
“About?”

  
“Don’t deflect.” Steve started to open his mouth to argue, but Dustin quickly cut him off. “And I don’t want to hear the words ‘I’m fine’ leave those lips of yours. You’re so not fine. You’re like, the opposite of fine. Dude, just be straight with me. I’m tough. I can take it.”

  
Steve sighed heavily and leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. “What do you want to know?”

  
“What kind of cancer do you have?”

  
Steve’s eyebrows knitted together as he tried to recall. “Acute My- Mylo-“

  
“Myeloid,” Dustin supplied. Mr. Clarke had taught them about the immune system and the various cells second quarter.

  
“Yeah. Acute Myeloid Leukemia. AML for short. All I really know is it’s a blood cancer and it starts in the bone marrow.”

  
The gears in Dustin’s head were grinding at high speed. “I need you to take me to the library tomorrow morning.”

  
Steve’s head was spinning with all the directions the conversation was taking. “What for?”

  
Dustin rested his chin on his hand. “Well, knowledge is power. And I want to know as much about your disease as possible so we can know how to help you.”

  
The word “disease” triggered something in Steve. It was such an ugly word, albeit accurate. From here on out, he would be known as the boy with the disease. He’d have a sign around his neck that would change the way people treated him, interacted with him – it would change everything. Even Dustin had innocently done so. And Steve _hated_ it!

  
“There you go again assuming I’ll need help.” It came out angrier than Steve meant, but Dustin just shot him a look as if to say _really_? “Okay, you’re probably right, but can’t you let me decide what I do or do not need help with?”

  
“That would be ideal, yes. But everyone knows you’re not great at asking for it. I promise not to insert myself into your life without being invited if you promise to admit when you need someone there for you. I mean it. Even if it’s to take out the trash, get you food, run an errand, hold your hair back while you puke, hold your hand, whatever.”

  
Steve was speechless but was given a reprieve from forming a response as the waitress set down their food. “Okay, but you got promise me that you’ll stop treating me like I’m going to break or collapse at any second.”

  
Dustin just grinned at him as he shoved a french fry in his mouth. “I already have. Why do you think I asked you to take me to the library tomorrow like the good babysitter you are? Now eat.”

  
Steve was frozen in amazement at how quickly Dustin had seemed to process the news. He had been living with the possibility for weeks, and he hadn’t felt much of anything but numb. He supposed he was in shock. That’s why he had been surprised by his, not one but two, emotional outbursts in front of Dustin tonight. Steve took a sip of his milkshake and tried to make Dustin happy by taking a bite of his burger, but it tasted like cardboard to him.

  
Satisfied that Steve was eating, Dustin turned back to his own plate. “So, I’m assuming there’s some sort of treatment? What are they gonna do,” he asked around a mouthful of food.

  
“Dude, close your mouth when you chew. And yes, I have to check into the hospital on Monday morning.”

  
This statement caused Dustin to abandon his food. “So soon? But it’s Friday. And why do you have to stay in the hospital? I thought you only went once a week. That’s what my grandpa did.”

  
Steve swirled a french fry through the ketchup on his plate, playing with it but not really eating it. He didn’t have all the answers to Dustin’s very valid questions. Too much information had been thrown at him, and he was trying to make sense of it all. He was very glad Hopper and Mrs. Byers had been there with him to absorb what he couldn’t. But in the moment, he tried to appease Dustin as best as he could. “Um, they’re gonna do surgery Monday and put in this semi-permanent IV thingy to give the medicine through. I think it’s called a port.”

  
“Yeah, I’ve heard of that. But I thought it was like, a one day procedure?”

  
“It is. It takes like an hour or something. But then they want to give me like, a day to recover and then start chemotherapy. Apparently, it’s pretty intense. The chemo, I mean.” Steve twisted the wrapper of the straw around his fingers, growing increasingly uncomfortable. He had really tried not to think too hard about this because every time he did, his nerves screamed at him to stop. “The side effects are like, pretty bad, I guess.”

  
“Like what?”

  
Steve really didn’t want to talk about it, but he knew when he started this conversation that Dustin’s questions would be blunt and relentless, so he pressed on. “What side effects do all medications have: nausea, vomiting, diarrhea.” Dustin pulled a face. “So, drink your chocolate shake.”

  
“Asshole,” Dustin snarked, but there was no bite behind it. He made a circle in the air for Steve to continue.

  
“There’s like, a huge infection risk. Being really tired. Weakness. It can affect your heart and liver or something.” As Steve ticked things off on his fingers, Dustin’s eyes grew wider and wider. “Um, what else?”

  
“Jesus, isn’t that enough?” Dustin was almost sorry he had asked. Almost.

  
Steve bore a hole with his eyes through his half-eaten burger. “Oh, yeah. Loss of appetite. Mouth sores. Fever. That’s all I can really remember,” Steve trailed off, not raising his head.

  
Dustin was an astute observer. Steve was holding back something. “There’s something you’re not saying.”

  
“It’s stupid. You’re going to think I’m stupid. Of all the stupid things to worry about.”

  
Dustin grabbed the wrist that was attached to the hand nervously shredding a napkin. “Steve, stop saying the word ‘stupid’ in relation to yourself. Nothing that you’re feeling or voicing is ‘stupid’.” Dustin made air quotes at the end of his sentence.

  
Steve tilted his head to the side and grabbed of handful of his hair, giving Dustin a pointed look.

  
“Oh.”

  
“Yeah. Told you it was stupid,” he sighed.

  
Dustin pushed his food away to relay the sincerity of what he was about to say. “It’s not stupid at all. Just misinformed. You’re under the impression that your hair is directly tied to your identity, and without it you will lose who you are. But that’s not the case at all. Is it the first thing people notice about you? Yes. But the more time people spend around you, the less they see it because they are dazzled by more intangible constructs that make you who you are: your kindness, generosity, fierce protectiveness, your sense of humor, your heart. You get what I’m saying? We love you for _you_ , Steve. Not your hair. It just happens to be aesthetically pleasing.”

  
Steve swallowed convulsively, dangerously close to another emotional cathartic moment. “Wow…I don’t know what to say. Thanks?”

  
“Don’t mention it. I only spoke the truth. Friends don’t lie, remember? Besides, you can use this like a superpower to attract girls.” Steve just stared at him incredulously. “What? Don’t give me that look! Girls love that Florence Nightengale shit. You told me that. They’re gonna wanna look after you like a sick puppy. I’ll even be your wingman. The ladies will all be like, there goes that poor guy with cancer. God, he’s sooo cute. And isn’t he so wonderful for looking after his adorable little brother even though he’s so sick?”

  
Steven couldn’t help himself. He barked out a deep belly laugh. “Dude, you’re sick. I can’t even think of dating right now.”

  
“Why not? It’d be a nice distraction.”

  
Steve took out his wallet and picked up the check to pay. He pushed himself out of the booth. “Because Dustin…even if I felt up to it which I highly doubt…what girl is going to want to date a guy that’s dying?”

  
The lighthearted mood so recently and fragilely constructed, shattered at their feet. Dustin shot out of his seat and grabbed Steve firmly by the arm, causing him to spin around to face the younger boy. Dustin poked an angry finger at his chest. “Don’t ever say that! You’re not dying! You’re fighting! There’s a difference dammit!”

  
Shocked, Steve threw money on the table and led Dustin out of the restaurant, away from prying eyes of onlookers. Once the glass doors swung shut, Steve pulled Dustin into his arms. Dustin’s nose pressed into his chest. Steve felt the dampness soak through his red sweater, the only sound muffled sniffles.

  
Once Dustin had composed himself enough, he stepped back. His voice still cracked when he spoke. “You can’t just give up, Steve. I won’t let you. We need you. _I_ need you. You’re our fighter.”

  
Steve set him down gently in the passenger seat and circled the car to get in himself. Before he started the car, he turned to Dustin. “Look at me. Hey. Who said anything about giving up? I haven’t even started fighting.”

  
“But, you said-“

  
“I’m just trying to be realistic. Make this all make sense in my head.” Steve started the BMW and turned around to begin backing out of the space. He put the car in drive and let it roll forward before he spoke so he’d be shrouded in darkness and his attention would be diverted out the window as he said the next part. “I’m scared, Dusty. I’m fucking terrified,” he confessed.

  
“Me too,” Dustin admitted in a whisper.

  
There wasn’t much to say after that, each consumed by their individual fears. “I guess I should take you home. It’s getting late. I don’t want your mom to worry.”

  
“She won’t worry.” Steve did a doubletake. Claudia Henderson was a loving mother and nothing like his piece of shit parents who weren’t even coming back in the foreseeable future. Dustin noted his reaction and explained. “It’s just that when I called her, I told her a little of what was happening and asked if I could stay with you tonight.”

  
Steve smirked. “What happened to ‘not inserting yourself in my life’ unasked?” He hoped his teasing tone was evident.

  
“To be fair, that was before I made that statement. I thought we could eat junk food and watch shitty movies until we passed out on the couch. I just didn’t want you to be alone,” Dustin whispered meekly into his lap, as if he were afraid Steve would reject his offer. He felt the car lurch to a stop and realized that they were parked in Steve’s driveway. Steve hadn’t directly said ‘yes’, but this was good enough.

  
Steve threw his arm around Dustin’s shoulder in a brotherly gesture as they climbed the stairs. “That actually sounds…nice. Thanks.”

  
Dustin smiled. “Anytime.

  
Steve switched on the lights and threw his keys onto a side table. “And tomorrow, I’ll take you to the library and swing by your house to get your things before we go the Byers’.”

  
“You’re the greatest, Steve.” Steve let out a heavy sigh. “What is it?”

  
Steve scratched absently at his head. “I just…I still haven’t quite figured out what to tell everyone tomorrow? It’s not like there’s a handbook for this sort of thing.”

  
It was Dustin’s turn to put his arm around Steve as he led him to sit on the couch. He had to reach a little with the height difference, but that was no matter. “That’s the beauty of it, Steve. You don’t have to figure it out on your own. We’re going to all figure this out together. All of it. All of us – Hopper, Mrs. Byers, Will, Jonathan, Mike, Nancy, Lucas, El, Max, me, you. We’re a family. Like it or not, you’re stuck with us, Steve.”

  
Tears sprung to Steve’s eyes as Dustin’s revelation hit him like a thunderclap. It might not be okay. _He_ might not be okay, but he wouldn’t be alone. Although there would be many hard, bleak days ahead, he would be surrounded by people that loved and cared for him. He absolutely could not fathom what he had possibly done to deserve all these wonderful people in his life, but he would do his damnedest to fight not only for himself, but for them.


	2. If You Could, Get Me A Drink of Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve struggles to maintain some normality in spite of his illness. He has to break the news to the others, but it doesn't exactly go as planned. Faced with possibly losing it all, he knows he's gained everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've taken some slight poetic license with the timeline. Hopefully, you'll forgive that. Also, fair warning, it's pretty dialogue heavy. The title of the story and the chapters are from "Cancer" by My Chemical Romance. That song (and the whole album) has become very important to me in my own battle, and I wanted to acknowledge it in some way.

The sunlight glinted brightly off the windshield. Despite the Ray Bans hugging his face, Steve was nearly blinded by the glare. It was giving him a headache. Perhaps he should’ve gone into the library with Dustin, but it would’ve made him too uneasy. Besides, Dustin promised he’d be quick, having a singular objective.

Twenty minutes later, and Steve was questioning his decision to wait in the car when Dustin bust out of the entrance like the building was on fire. He ran to the BMW and yanked the passenger door open.

“What are you waiting for, Steve? Go,” Dustin demanded as he threw his backpack into the back seat.

“Geez, did you rob a bank or something? What’s your hurry?” Steve pulled away from the curb extra slowly just to piss Dustin off.

“Not exactly.” Dustin began pulling books out from inside his jacket like a magician pulling rabbits out of a hat.

“More like robbed a library,” Steve answered himself sarcastically. “What’s with all the secrecy?”

Dustin couldn’t keep the annoyance out of his voice. “They only let you check out 5 books at a time. Can you believe that? It stifles my curiosity voyage, Steve. Stifles it! I had to sneak the rest out.”

They were stopped at a red light. Steve glanced at a couple of the titles: Understanding Acute Myeloid Leukemia, What to Expect When Starting Chemo, Battling Cancer, Defeating Cancer. He felt an odd flutter in his heart. “You’re really going to read all these?”

“Well, yeah. At least skim them. And plus, it won’t just be me. Once you drop your bomb tonight, I’m pretty sure the others will want to help, too,” Dustin stated matter-of-factly.

  
There was that strange flip-flop in his heart again. Before all the Upside Down business, Steve knew that all these kids were smart – scarily so, but he had no idea just how special they were. Of course, dating Nancy, he had known just what a moody, royal pain in the ass Mike could be, but there was so much more to him and all the other kids than he could possibly imagine.

Steve eased his vehicle into park in front of Dustin’s house to find his wasn’t the only car there. “Shit. Your mom’s home?”

  
“Yeah. It’s her day off. C’mon, she’s making us lunch. Then I’ll pack up and we can head to the Byers’,” Dustin said as he exited from the passenger seat, leaving the books strewn across the seats.

  
Steve loved Claudia. He really did. But she fussed over him on a good day, so he was pretty sure he would be dripping in her concern today. “I don’t know if I can handle this right now.”

  
“Just let her mother you, Steve. Just let it happen, buddy. Let it happen.” Dustin took out his key and stuck it in the lock. “Besides, the less you fight it, the quicker we can get out of here.”

  
Steve tilted his head to the side, acknowledging Dustin’s point. Before Dustin could twist the key, the door flung open. Claudia reached for Steve’s face and cupped his cheeks with her hands. “Oh! Oh, Steve! You poor, poor boy…” She pulled him in for a bone crushing hug.

  
“Hi to you too, Mom,” Dustin sassed. “Can we get in the door please?”

  
“Silly me! Of course,” she exclaimed as she grabbed Steve’s hand and led him over to the couch and sat him down. She began to smooth his hair back and studied his face. “How are you feeling, sweetie?”

  
“You know, okay.”

  
“You’re so pale, dear. And much too thin,” she fretted, her hands rubbing up and down the arms of his jacket.

  
“I’m going to go pack if anyone cares,” Dustin muttered. Steve begged him with wide eyes to not leave him, but Dustin just held his gaze. They carried on a silent conversation before Dustin raised his eyebrows in his mother’s direction to make his point and disappeared into his bedroom, leaving Steve to fend for himself.

  
“Don’t be like that, Dusty-bun.” Claudia turned back to Steve, now clasping both his hands in hers. “Such a good boy.” At first Steve thought she was referring to her son, but then she lightly patted his cheek and repeated herself. “I hope he doesn’t give you too much trouble.”

  
Steve couldn’t remember the last time someone called him ‘good’. Maybe they never had because he wasn’t. There were a lot of regrets festering beneath the surface, and maybe, just maybe, his situation was punishment for his past sins. But Dustin? He was every parent’s dream, unlike himself. He shook his head and could barely stammer out a response, “N-no.”

  
Claudia mistook Steve’s introspection for a sign he was feeling ill. “Honey, are you tired? You look exhausted. Do you want to lie down? Maybe I should get you some water.”

  
Overhearing, Dustin popped his head out of his room. “Mom!”

  
Despite Dustin’s warning tone, Claudia continued nervously hovering over Steve. She started to cry just a little. “I’m sorry. I’ve just been a wreck since Dustin told me. I can’t imagine what you and your parents must be feeling. What a horrible thing to have to go through. Every parents’ worst nightmare.”

  
Except his. His parents couldn’t even be bothered. Steve was careful to keep his expression neutral and avoid the subject of his parents as he comforted her, “It’s okay. I’m okay, Mrs. Henderson. It’s going to be fine.”

  
The kitchen timer went off as Dustin hurried into the living room as fast as he could, depositing a duffel bag onto the floor. Steve’s façade was cracking and the crestfallen look that broke through on his face was brief, but it was there. “Smells good, Mom,” Dustin said to distract her.

  
“It’s Grandma’s famous chicken soup recipe. She always swore it could cure _anything_.” Claudia turned on her heel to take the pot off the stove and get out the bowls and utensils.

  
“Steve’s got cancer, Mom. Not a cold. I don’t think it’s gonna cure that.” One could practically hear the roll of Dustin’s eyes in his voice.

  
“Oh Dustin! Honestly! It certainly can’t _hurt_.”

  
Steve watched the whole exchange, bemused. It felt nice to be the recipient of such well-meaning intentions, however misguided they were – and how little he deserved it. He slid an arm around Claudia’s shoulders as she dished up the soup. “Well, it looks delicious,” he said graciously.

  
Dustin beamed at him over a spoonful of broth. He appreciated the care Steve always took with his mom’s feelings, no matter how uncomfortable he was with her affections. After that, the meal became a lot less awkward, and they were able to steer the conversation into more mundane areas.

  
Eventually, Steve was sent off, Dustin in tow, with a Tupperware container full of chicken soup and a promise to visit him in the hospital. She reminded him if he needed anything, absolutely anything at all, to give her a call.

  
“Thank you, Mrs. Henderson. Really. Thank you,” he hugged her before Dustin dragged him away. He popped the trunk and went to lift Dustin’s duffel bag inside. “What’s this?”

  
Dustin peered over the lip of the trunk. “Oh, that. I packed you a bag while you were in the shower in case you wanted to stay at the Byers’ tonight.”

  
Steve shrugged. He wasn’t totally opposed to the idea; it just hadn’t crossed his mind. “We’ll see,” he said noncommittally. “Here, hold the chicken soup.”

  
“You did it. You survived Claudia Henderson,” Dustin quipped. “I know she can be a lot.”

  
“Yeah. I’m still not used to it,” he huffed a laugh. “Your mom is pretty great, though.” The subtext of that was that Steve’s mom was…not.

  
“Yeah,” Dustin readily agreed. “So, how’s this gonna go tonight?”

  
“I still have no idea.” Steve bit his lip nervously. He used the rest of the time on the drive over to try to formulate a speech, but it was useless. He wasn’t good with words – written or spoken. No matter what the timing was or how the sentences were strung together, he was convinced it would be a disaster. Anxiety nipped at his heels when he thought of their reaction, or worse yet – no reaction.

  
Dustin sensed his uncertainty. “It’s going to be okay, Steve. You did a good job telling me,” he reassured his friend as they pulled into the Byers’ driveway. “I’ll leave the books in the car, so they won’t see them accidentally and you won’t have to tell them before you’re ready.”

  
Steve gave him a small smile in relief. The curly-haired boy was always so perceptive, and he was grateful. He slid his car alongside Hopper’s police cruiser, noting that not only Joyce and Jonathan’s cars were also outside, but Nancy’s as well. “Are we late?”

  
“No, but it looks like everyone else is here already, so hurry the hell up.” Dustin didn’t wait for a response before climbing out of the vehicle and letting himself in the house. Steve grabbed the Tupperware container, and followed.

  
Joyce greeted him at the door and pecked his cheek. “Hi, sweetheart. How are you doing?”

  
If any of the kids in the living room found this unusual, they didn’t acknowledge it. “You know, fine.” It was becoming his automatic go-to reply. Hopper tipped his beer at him in greeting from his place in the armchair. Steve waved in response. “Could I maybe put this in the fridge? Mrs. Henderson,” Steve held up the rubber container in lieu of an explanation.

  
“Sure, honey. I’ve got it. Why don’t you join the others,” Joyce suggested as she accepted the left-over container.

  
Steve took a minute to observe the kids. Although they had witnessed more horrors than anyone five times their age ever had a right to, they maintained an…innocence that he wanted to protect and preserve. It nearly brought him to tears sometimes when he thought on it too long. And he was only going to chip further away at it tonight. He had to snap himself out of it.

  
“Alright you heathens! What are you doing inside when it is a beautiful day outside?” Steve stood with hands on his denim-clad hips, one hip cocked jauntily out.

  
“C’mon, Steve. We’re about ready to start a campaign,” Mike said exasperated.

  
“Give it up, Harrington. I already tried,” Hopper grumbled without tearing his attention away from the baseball game on television.

  
“Your campaign thingy can wait. Fresh air! Vitamin D! Sunshine, you vampires! Let’s go,” Steve clapped his hands together like an overextended mother. “Grab a ball or something.”

  
“A ball,” Mike spat.

  
“Steve, it’s like ninety degrees outside. It’s too hot,” Lucas whined.

  
Steve smirked as he reached inside his windbreaker, holding up several packages. “Why do you think I brought these?”

  
“Water balloons,” Will’s eyes lit up. El looked confused, but as Max’s excitement grew, so did hers.

  
“What the hell, Steve? When did you have time to get those,” Dustin expressed his disbelief.

  
Steve turned to Joyce and Hopper. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  
Joyce shrugged. “I don’t mind a little dampness at the dinner table. Jim?”

  
The Chief acted disinterested but hid a smile well behind his sandy mustache and the beer bottle.

  
“How about it? Nancy? Jonathan? Want to help an old classmate out,” Steve jiggled the plastic pouches, trying to entice them.

  
Nancy held up a giant wooden salad bowl. “I’m helping Mrs. Byers with dinner. Sorry.”

  
“I think I’m going to stick to taking pictures. I’ve seen what they can do. Sorry, man,” Jonathan laughed, not sorry in the least.

  
“Spoilsports,” Steve teased as the kids streamed around him, yanking the packages out of his hands before he followed them out the door.

  
“Dinner’s in an hour. One hour,” Joyce called after the stampeding kids.

  
Will and Lucas drug a couple of plastic buckets over to the water spicket and began filling the brightly colored balloons up. Max assisted in tying them while Mike was patiently explaining to his girlfriend what they were doing. Steve anxiously bounced on his toes, waiting for the water war to begin as Dustin spouted strategy in his ear.

  
There weren’t any official teams chosen. It was more every man for himself, although Max and Lucas had taken it upon themselves to fire the water bombs at Dustin and Will, who were ducking behind any obstacle they could find. And until El got the hang of things, she had a tendency to squeal and hide behind Steve for protection. Mike avoided throwing any balloons at El, deciding to pepper Steve directly in the face instead. Water dripped down his face and neck, soaking the collar of his black t-shirt. Steve began to chase Mike in retaliation. “Come back here, you little shit.”

  
“Not the head. Jesus!” Dustin ran after the pair to jump in to Steve’s defense if necessary.

  
Hopper and Joyce watched, amused, from the kitchen window. Shrieks of joy filtered in through the pane of glass. Steve’s red and white windbreaker streaked past once, twice, three times as six kids trailed behind him, arms cocked, ready to throw at a moment’s notice. “He really is great with the kids, isn’t he? I can see why they all love him so much.”

  
“Yep. He’s like the nerd whisperer. He’d better be careful, though. It looks like they’re forming a mutiny.” There was a glint in Hopper’s eye.

  
Joyce craned her neck to make sure Nancy and Jonathan were out of ear shot. “Maybe we should break it up. I don’t want Steve to overexert himself.”

  
“Nah. He looks genuinely happy. You ever notice how that smile of his never quite reaches his eyes except when he’s around the kids? Even when he was being diagnosed, he had this stupid blank grin on his face. I think it’s his default mode.”

  
Joyce nodded in understanding. “I’ve overheard Dustin say something similar.”

  
Jim shrugged, turning his attention back out the window. “Besides, he’s 18. Old enough to know how he feels. Let him have his fun while he can. It’s going to get real bad real quick.” He dropped his head towards the sink.

  
Joyce made a sympathetic noise in her throat. “Thinking about Sarah?”

  
“Yeah.” He took a swig of his beer and walked out of the kitchen, effectively ending the conversation as Joyce returned to chopping vegetables. That is, until Dustin’s frantic shouting drew her attention back outside.

  
“Get off him, you assholes! Six against one isn’t a fair fight!” Steve had five pairs of hands pulling on his jacket, trying to explode water balloons on every inch of skin they could find. Steve was visibly straining under their weight, struggling to move forward and get away from the assaulting hands. This did not go unnoticed by Dustin who was desperately trying to call his other friends off the babysitter. “Man, stop it!”

  
Dustin’s frustrations grew as the rest of the kids ignored him and continued relentlessly pursuing Steve who was appearing more and more worn down. “That’s it, you fuckers.” Dustin drug the hose over from the side of the house and punctuated each of his next words with a strong spray of water. “Get. Off. Of. Him. He’s had enough!”

  
It looked like it was going to get ugly in a second as the group’s ire turned on Dustin, so Joyce chose that moment to call them in for dinner. She awaited them at the door with towels. “Dinner’s on the table. Dry off, wash up, and dig in.”

  
Dustin lagged behind to keep an eye on Steve who was leaning heavily against the corner of the house, just out of sight, taking deep, gulping breaths. Dustin furrowed his brows in concern, but Steve gave him a thumbs up and pushed himself away from the edge of the structure to follow the others inside. Dustin did not fail to notice that Steve was moving rather slowly and limping a bit on the way in.

  
The chatter at the table was noisy, but not unwelcome. Forks loudly scraped plates as laughter filled the room. Steve pushed his spaghetti around the plate absently, taking a bite now and then to be polite, trying to participate in the cozy scene. But his stomach was staging a revolt. It became more and more difficult to force the food down his throat without it coming back for a second appearance.

  
Whether it be his police training or just the fact that he was seated at the head of the table directly to Steve’s left, Hopper was pretty sure he was the only one who realized how subdued Steve had become and the growing level of his distress. “You okay, kid?”

  
Steve swallowed hard. “May I please be excused,” he whispered abruptly.

  
“Ain’t gotta ask. Just go,” Jim vaguely gestured to the hallway, fork still in hand. Dustin, who was on Steve’s other side, set his hands on the table to push himself away. The police chief gave one short shake of his head to keep Dustin in his place.

  
Everyone was finishing up, and Steve still hadn’t returned. Dustin kept shooting Hopper glances which he expertly ignored. Dustin was growing impatient, and started to say so when Steve suddenly reappeared, desperately clinging to the wall. His complexion had gone paper white. Dustin kicked the Chief under the table.

  
“Hey!” Hopper sat up, ready to clobber the kid until he got a glimpse of Steve in his peripheral vision. He turned in his chair to face the teen. “Everything okay, Champ?”

  
“Just great, Chief,” Steve sounded slightly out of breath. He took two halting steps towards the dining room table, and his knees buckled.

  
“Whoa, kid!” Jim was at his side in an instant, catching him before he hit the floor. He practically carried Steve over to the couch and peeled the jacket off him when he saw the sheen of sweat on his brow. He laid Steve back gently, stuffing the windbreaker under his head to pad it. “Joyce, could you get his feet up above his heart?”

  
“Yeah. Yeah, of course.” She quickly threw some pillows on the end of the couch and lifted Steve’s legs onto them. She then worked at removing his battered Nike’s while giving directions. “Nancy, could you get a cold cloth? And maybe some water, Jonathan?”

  
Steve was only partially aware of his surroundings, the sounds and faces blurring into one big jumbled mess inside his brain. His head lolled listlessly to the side as the room spun. Distantly, he felt something cool pressed to his forehead.

  
The younger teens stood horrified, reminded of another time they had witnessed Steve so limp and pliant, concussed as a result of protecting them from Billy. They hadn’t had time to worry much about his physical state then, but they were collectively feeling the fear for his health now, tenfold. Mike, in particular, seemed mortified. “Did I cause that? I hit him pretty hard in the face.”

  
“Oh, sweetie, no,” Joyce attempted to assuage his guilt as her attention was split between all the children, including the barely conscious one in front of her.

  
“His arms,” Lucas exclaimed. “What’s with all the bruises?” He pointed to the numerous dark, black circles littering Steve’s arms, even disappearing underneath his short sleeves. There were even a few on his stomach that peaked out from beneath where his t-shirt had ridden up.

  
Steve groaned weakly from the couch as the kids crowded around him in concern. Even though they meant well, Jim had enough of the group gawking at the boy lying prone before them. “Alright! Anyone under the age of 19 save Steve here, into the bedrooms! Give him some space. He needs some room to breathe.”

  
Jonathan and Nancy helped herd the kids down the hallway, although both their mouths were tight with worry. All the kids went without argument, understanding the seriousness of the situation. Dustin went somewhat reluctantly, however, taking one last apprehensive glance at Steve before allowing himself to be guided into Will’s room.

  
Joyce continued to keep the damp washcloth pressed to Steve’s temple with one hand while she combed through his hair with the other one. The action soothed him more than it had a right to. Steve gripped the back of the couch with the intention of pulling himself upright, but a strong, calloused hand prevented him from doing so. “Give yourself a few minutes there, kid. You nearly kissed the floor. Do you remember what happened?”

  
Steve vaguely moved his head up and down. “Mind sharing with the class,” Hopper asked, not unkindly.

  
The teen squeezed his eyes shut against the dizziness. “I got sick in the bathroom,” Steve muttered, embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I cleaned up after myself.”

  
Joyce’s face fell at the implication that Steve felt an apology was necessary. She abandoned the washcloth in favor of stroking his cheek which now had a bit of color to it. “Oh, honey. Don’t worry. The important thing is how you’re feeling.”

  
“I feel better now. I’m fine, thanks. I’m sorry if I scared everyone.” Steve was still working against Hopper’s hand, trying to sit himself up.

  
Seeing Steve’s eyes more focused, Hopper, this time, let him. “You need to stop apologizing for things that are out of your control.” He supported Steve’s back as he moved into a more upright position. “Go slow. That’s it.”

  
Steve dragged a tired hand down his face and glanced over his shoulder down the hallway. He sighed. “I guess we’re doing this now, huh?”

  
“Whenever you’re ready, sweetie.” Joyce sat on his side and gave him the glass of water. “Just sips, okay?” She helped steady the glass as it made its way to his lips.

  
Steve set the cup on the coffee table in front of him when he was finished and scooted shakily backward on the couch, so he was resting against the cushions. His head felt abnormally heavy and he allowed Joyce to guide it onto her shoulder. He took as deep a breath as he could manage. “I’m ready.”

  
Hopper wordlessly rose and went to retrieve the others. It was so unnaturally silent as they all entered the room. Steve squirmed uncomfortably under all their scrutinizing gazes. “I guess you’re all wondering what that was about.”

  
El stepped forward. “Hurt,” she questioned softly.

  
Steve was grateful El gave him an opening. Just like with Dustin, he had had no clue where to begin. Now he didn’t have to come up with something. “No. No, I’m not hurt.”

  
“Promise?”

  
“Promise,” Steve directed at the girl with powers, giving her a wan smile.

  
Before he could open his mouth to explain further, Max stepped forward. “Is it your head? From Billy? Should we take you to the hospital,” the red head asked hesitantly, afraid of the answer. She still felt responsible, however unfounded the notion was. Her fears were put to rest as Steve slowly shook his head back and forth.

  
“Maybe we should take you to a doctor,” Lucas suggested. “You passed out.”

  
“I didn’t pass out,” Steve stated calmly.

  
“Dude, your eyes rolled back so far in your head you were staring at your brain,” Mike snapped.

  
“I still think we should take you to a doctor,” Lucas restated.

  
“Guys,” Dustin piped up. “Why don’t we back off and let Steve talk?” He joined his friend on the couch, sitting to the side of Steve not occupied by Joyce. Dustin reached for Steve’s hand and squeezed his slender fingers, understanding what was about to transpire. Steve was thankful for the encouragement.

  
Their fingers stayed linked as Steve gathered up the courage to divulge his illness. If anyone found it strange that the two friends were essentially holding hands, they wisely held their tongue, sensing the anguish radiating off the older teen. “I have seen doctors, Lucas. And they’ve done a bunch of tests.”

  
“The bruises?”

  
“What tests, Steve?” The latter question came from Nancy. She always did know how to get straight to the point, despite her tone betraying her rising panic.

  
“They took lots of blood. Hence some of the bruises,” Steve held up his arms for all to see and dropped his gaze to the floor as he put himself on display. His arms flopped back into his lap, Dustin’s hand still attached, as he took some uneven breaths. He struggled to control the trembling overtaking his body. “They checked out my brain and heart and lungs and all my other organs with all kinds of scans and pictures and stuff. Most of that was okay, except…”

  
Steve took such a long pause, that Will timidly spoke up to prompt him. “Except?”

  
He could feel his cheeks heating up. His whole body felt too hot. “Except the bone marrow biopsy.”

  
“B-b-but, isn’t that for…,” Jonathan stuttered over his question.

  
Steve licked his suddenly parched lips before answering. “Cancer. Yes,” he confirmed as he raised his head, but kept his eyes averted. He was such a coward. He was unable to even look at them. His hair fell in front of his face, hiding the tears starting to gather and clump his lashes. He bit them back with some difficulty. Joyce stroked comfortingly between his shoulder blades. She was such a calming presence that Steve willed himself to speak around the growing lump in his throat. “I have Leukemia.”

  
The quiet that followed his statement was so oppressive, it was almost palpable, taking on a life of its own. Bodies stood frozen, stunned into statues with the gravity of the news. If he listened close enough, he swore he could hear his heart cracking. The silence stretched out like a blanket before him, suffocating him. He simply couldn’t bear it anymore. “Someone, please say something,” Steve pleaded brokenly.

  
“Oh my God! Steve!” Nancy’s tears tumbled freely down her cheeks.

  
Her gasp elicited a ripple effect of soft cries that trickled through the group gathered in the Byers’ living room. Steve sat, tucked into a little ball on the sofa, seeming to shrink further and further into himself under the weight of all their pitying stares. “Please, just…just don’t do that. Don’t look at…Please…”

  
The paralytic spell broke, and a cacophony of voices rapid-fired questions and sympathies at him. It was becoming too overwhelming. The room was spinning again, and his vision was tunneling. His breaths were coming faster and faster as he was becoming detached from his body. Hopper clapped a fatherly hand onto the back of Steve’s neck, grounding him. “Joyce, I’m going to take Steve here for a breather. Can you deal with this?”

  
She nodded minutely as Jim guided Steve to the front door, Dustin still gripping his wrist loosely. “Just me and Steve, kid.”

  
Dustin tugged gently on his delicate wrist. “I just want your keys, Steve. To get the books out of the car. Then I’ll leave you two alone, I promise.”

  
Stepping out onto the small concrete porch, Steve jerked his head in the direction of the car as he handed him the keys. Dustin quickly gathered the loose books and his backpack. He also retrieved Steve’s bag from the trunk.

  
“After your little limp rag doll act, you know you’re staying here tonight, right? Joyce is going to mother the shit out of you. And these kids aren’t going to let you out of their sight.”

  
Steve lifted up the corners of his lips slightly as Dustin came barreling past. “Way ahead of you, Chief. I already packed him a bag. See?”

  
The Chief waited until Dustin had entirely disappeared into the house. “Sit down before you fall down again, kid.”

  
Steve obeyed and sat in a rickety rocking chair that wasn’t doing his stomach any favors. Hopper pulled out a pack of cigarettes and slid one into his mouth. He lit it and took a deep drag, the end turning a bright orange in the darkness.

  
“You wouldn’t happen to want to let me have one of those, would you,” Steve tried. Hopper sighed. “C’mon, I’m legal enough to buy ‘em, and it’s been a pretty rough couple of weeks. What am I gonna do? Give myself more cancer?”

  
Hopper chuckled at the teen’s biting remark and stuck the pack out, allowing Steve’s point. He didn’t have to like it, though. He lit the end for the teen and watched him breathe in the acrid smoke. Steve’s body visibly relaxed with each inhale and exhale.

  
The cigarette dangled, half smoked, between Jim’s fingers as he gestured towards the front door. “That kid with the baseball hat? He’s a little mouthy, but he’s alright.”

  
“Dustin? Yeah, he’s a great kid. They all are, really. Smart and intuitive as hell, too.” Steve raised the cigarette to his lips. “Unlike me,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

  
Hopper practically growled, “Why do you do that?”

  
Steve just shrugged. “I just know what I am – and what I’m not. And what I’m not is smart. I can’t even understand what they’re saying half the time, let alone get into college with my grades. But maybe that was for the best, you know, because I obviously couldn’t go anywhere now anyway. Just another selfish, spoiled rich kid that’s going nowhere except to work for daddy’s company. If I live long enough, that is.”

  
Jim had to light another cigarette and breathe deeply to reign in his outrage. Outrage that the child in front of him believed all this negative crap about himself. Outrage that no one had taught him to believe differently. Outrage that he had to watch yet _another_ child battle this hideous disease. And outrage that after Steve had saved all their lives, he might not be able to save _his_.

  
He offered Steve another cigarette as he bent down to his level and looked him straight in the eye. “I’ll admit, Harrington, my first impression of you was just another selfish, rich asshole. But you are the epitome of don’t judge a book by its cover. The stories I’ve heard…what you did…that takes a lot of smarts – street smarts. Now, these kids are great, but that is one area they are sorely lacking in.” Jim paused to let that sink in. “What you did also took a lot of guts. Putting yourself on the line and stepping in front of Jonathan and Nancy, and then the kids like that? Ignoring your own well-being to protect those kids? There’s nothing more selfless than risking your life for another person. And you’ve done it more than once. I’ll tell you something, kid, if I had to trust El with anyone but me, my first choice would be you. You’d lay down your life for her – for any one of us. I know it. She knows it. Hell, all the kids do. You’ve proven it time and again.”

  
Jim didn’t know he had so many words in him, but he pressed on because he needed Steve to _hear_ him and understand his worth. “And I’ll tell you something else, too. Before all…this, I had really been thinking I’d try to persuade you into joining the force. I don’t give a crap about your college situation or your grades. You have what it takes to protect and serve – certainly more than those two idiots working with me now. You’ve already been doing it. May as well get paid, right? When you get better…”

  
Steve’s eyebrows rose higher and higher in disbelief on his forehead the more Hopper went on. The police chief was not one to give compliments lightly. He also did not fail to catch that Hopper had said “ _when_ ”, not “ _if_.” Steve wanted to believe so badly in the future that the police chief had laid out for him, but right now he was having trouble even picturing a future. “I appreciate all the nice words, Hop. I do. I just can’t…I don’t think…I don’t even know if I’m gonna…” Hopper waited patiently for Steve to give voice to his thoughts. “It’s just, how can I think about my future when I don’t even know if I’m gonna have one?”

  
Hopper’s heart squeezed painfully in his chest at Steve’s earnestness. From anyone else, the brutal honesty would have come off as bitter, but coming from him, it was just sad. “You’re right, kid. There’s no guarantee this is going to end well. It’s a horrible, horrible thing that’s happening to you. I understand that better than anyone.”

  
Steve’s face fell. “I’m so, so sorry I got you involved in this. I shouldn’t have. I had no idea about your daughter. I don’t mean to bring up bad memories for you. I honestly can’t understand how you can even look at me. My parents certainly can’t,” Steve murmured into the night.

  
Hopper’s head dropped to his chest. He had to take a moment and fight the tears back at the notion of parents that could abandon their child at a time like this. “Steve, your parents don’t deserve a wonderful son like you. When I think about what they’re doing to you, it makes me angry on your behalf because I would sell my soul for another minute with my child. Everything reminds me of her, but they’re not all bad memories. I think of her all the time no matter what. I go into a store, I think of her. I turn on the radio, I think of her. I go to bed, I think of her. You get what I’m saying?”

  
“Mmhmm, but still…I’m really sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused you all. I really appreciate all you’ve done for me,” Steve said sincerely.

  
Hopper laid his hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Well, get used to this ugly mug because you’re going to see a lot more of it, as well as all the little gremlins inside. And can you do one thing for me, kid?”

  
Steve nodded. “Sure.”

  
“For the love of God, stop apologizing! You are the one person I don’t want to hear the words “I’m sorry” come from ever again. You are not allowed to be sorry for being sick. Got it?” Hopper shook Steve’s shoulder for emphasis.

  
The screen door opened, and Joyce joined them on the porch. “I hate to interrupt, but the kids are getting antsy wondering how Steve is doing.”

  
The teenager looked a little sheepish. “Yeah, I should probably go in there. They probably have a million questions. I kinda left everyone high and dry there. Sorry. Are they okay?”

  
“Steve…,” Hopper warned kindly.

  
“What? Oh, right. Sorry. Dammit!”

  
Joyce, rightfully so, regarded the exchange with confusion. She chose to address Steve’s previous inquiries. “Yes, they’re upset of course, but fine. And yes, they did have a lot of questions, but I think Dustin and I were able to answer most of them. And what we couldn’t, well, they’ve each got a book in their lap.”

  
Steve rose from the rocking chair. “Thank you both. I guess it’s time to go face the music.”

  
Before he could step through the threshold, Dustin popped his head out the door. “Hey Steve, settle a bet. If you could only eat one meal for the rest of – from now on, what would it be?”

  
“What? Why?” Even after all this time, Steve still couldn’t get used to how random the kids were sometimes.

  
“Just answer the question, Steve,” Dustin sighed, exasperated.

  
“I don’t know. I guess grill out food. Hamburgers, hotdogs, that sort of thing.”

  
“Not pizza?” Steve just shrugged. “See, I told you assholes,” Dustin yelled inside as he slammed the door.

  
“What the hell was that,” Steve asked, puzzled.

  
Joyce’s face scrunched up. “I’m not supposed to tell you this because it’s supposed to be a secret, but…the kids wanted to do something special for you tomorrow before you have to check into the hospital Monday morning. They kinda, sorta want to throw you a party. And I kinda, sorta told them it was okay. I hope you don’t mind. I thought it was sorta sweet.”

  
“Oh, holy shit.” Steve looked skywards and ran a hand through his hair. “No. Yeah, it is really sweet. I just…I have a ton to get done tomorrow. I have to pack, close up the house.”

  
“Well, I was supposed to have Jim get you out of the house anyway because it’s supposed to be a surprise. Which reminds me…you know you’re staying here tonight and tomorrow night, right? There’s no way you’re going back to your house and staying there alone with what happened earlier. I’m not taking no for an answer. I worry about all my kids, and like it or not, that includes you now, too,” Joyce stated firmly and held her arms out.

  
Hopper shot Steve a look as if to say, “I told you so”. Steve could only move his head in agreement against her shoulder as he slid into her arms. She rocked him back and forth gently. It felt so warm and safe there, he didn’t think he ever wanted to leave.

  
“Does that work for you, Jim? Take Steve to his house and do whatever he needs to get done. Then bring him back here around five?” Joyce grimaced as if she were expecting a negative response, but Hopper just smiled to show his approval. Joyce grabbed Steve gently by the shoulders and traced the black circle under one eye with her fingertip. “Good. Now, we should get you inside and to bed. No offense, but you look like you’re absolutely exhausted.”

  
“I am,” Steve admitted. “But I have a feeling I’ll have some kids to answer to first.”

  
“Just let me handle them,” Hopper slipped past the pair with a gigantic grin on his face, as if were going to enjoy this. He probably was. “Listen up, you hooligans…”

  
It was a few minutes before he reopened the door and led them inside. Steve stepped over the threshold tentatively, unsure what to expect. There were a few moments of awkward silence before Will came forward. “You can take my bed, Steve,” he offered.

  
“Oh, no. I couldn’t do that, little Byers. I’ll just grab a piece of floor.” The last thing he wanted was for someone else to give up their comfort for him.

  
“It’s okay, really. Whenever we have sleepovers, we all usually sleep on the living room floor,” Will tried to convince him.

  
“It’s true, man. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve tripped over Will or one of his friends on my way to the kitchen,” Jonathan confirmed. “Look, I’m going to walk Nancy out, but if you need anything, my room is just across from Will’s.” Jonathan tapped him lightly on the shoulder with his fist as he walked past.

  
“Thanks.”

  
Nancy held his gaze longer than he was entirely comfortable with. “Steve…,” she started, then pulled him in for a hug when words failed her.

  
“It’s okay, Nance. It’s okay,” Steve reassured her. She nodded absently into his chest before pulling away and following Jonathan out the front door.

  
Will stood his ground in his quiet way. “There’s an extra pillow in my closet if you need it.”

  
“Thank you. That’s really nice of you.” Steve felt bad taking the small boy’s bed, but he would’ve felt even worse ignoring his offer.

  
Will smiled and Steve knew he had made the right decision. “Anytime.” He moved forward and encircled Steve’s waist. “Goodnight, Steve.”

  
Before Steve could even finish putting his arms around Will, Lucas was walking forward with his arm extended. He was going in for a high-five but changed his mind at the last second and joined the hug instead. “I have a message from my sister. She says to let her know if anyone at the hospital gives you any trouble because she said, and I quote: ‘He doesn’t need that shit when he’s trying to get better. If anyone messes with my man, Steve, I will personally go down there and kick their ass.’”

  
Steve couldn’t hold in his laughter. “Tell Erica I said thanks, but that won’t be necessary. On second thought, don’t tell her that. I don’t want to piss her off. Your sister scares me a little bit. She’s a badass.”

  
“So are you, Steve,” Max insisted as she threw her arms around the older boy. “If anyone’s strong enough to beat this, my money’s on you.”

  
Steve was bent over by the force of now three children wrapped around him. El approached him and touched his face delicately. “Sick,” she asked softly.

  
Steve was unsure how to answer her, so he just settled on the truth. “Yeah, El. I’m sick.” She frowned and draped her arms around his neck.

  
Mike seemed to have a silent argument with himself before giving in and placing his arms around Steve, too. He let himself lean into the others.

  
Dustin refused to be left out. “That’s it. I’m coming in. Make room.”

  
Jonathan had snuck in and grabbed his camera a moment before. He was stealthily taking photos of the group huddled together as his mom and Hopper stood by. But eventually, one of the kids heard the shutter of the camera and realized what he was doing. There was the odd sniffle as the kids drifted away from Steve.

  
Dustin picked up the duffel bag behind the couch and took Steve’s hand. “Let me show you to Will’s room.”

  
“Dustin, what’d we say about letting Steve get some rest,” Hopper warned.

  
“I’m just going to carry his bag for him and show him to Will’s room,” he said as if daring someone to stop him.

  
“Goodnight everyone,” Steve called behind him. A chorus of “goodnights” hit his back as Dustin practically dragged him down the hallway.

  
Dustin flipped the light on and dropped the bag by the side of the bed. Steve was curious what exactly was packed for him and was pleasantly surprised to see that all his necessities for the night were inside. He grabbed his pajamas and toothbrush and went into the bathroom next door to change and brush his teeth. When he returned Dustin was still sitting on the bed. “You really do look like shit, Steve. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  
He sat down next to Dustin. “Yeah, you know, considering.” Dustin arose to get the extra pillow from the closet while Steve laid himself down. “Hey, were those books helpful at all?”

  
Dustin threw the extra pillow at Steve who in turn put it behind his head. “Yeah, but we can talk about it later. Thanks for taking me, by the way.” Dustin hesitated at the doorway, as if he had more to say.

  
“What?”

  
“It’s just…when you collapsed out there, it really hit home, you know? It scared me. And I don’t want you to do things if you feel too sick or it’s going to make you worse or something. I just want you to take care of yourself and not worry about taking care of us so much.”

  
“I promise I will.” Dustin just gave him a skeptical look. “Okay, I promise to _try_. Good enough?” Dustin’s head bobbed up and down. “Good. C’mere dork.” Steve pushed himself up on his elbows and propped himself against the headboard, reaching out. Dustin readily accepted the offered hug. “Goodnight, Dustin.”

  
Dustin extricated himself from the older boy’s arms. “Goodnight, Steve.” He waited until his friend laid back down and got comfortable before he flipped off the light. “Sleep well.”

  
Steve rolled over and hugged the pillow tight. There were a million thoughts and emotions washing over him. He had managed to hold himself together pretty well, but now the tears came rushing out uncontrollably. They weren’t all sad tears, though. A lot of them were happy tears because nothing had felt so much like _home_ before. Like he _belonged_. In the midst of this tragedy was this overwhelming sense of _love_ that he had never known before. He let the feeling surround and cradle him as sleep finally pulled him under.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally intended to include the party mentioned in the end in this part, but the chapter was already so long that I decided to split it into two parts. I hope the lighthearted moments contrast well with the more serious moments and it's not too clunky or uneven. A lot of different thoughts and feelings and different reactions hit you when you're first diagnosed. But it's not all serious. I have some really funny stuff that's happened along the way so hopefully the story will reflect that. Also, I didn't actually look up the titles to any of the books Dustin checked out, so if there happens to be a book by that name, it's purely coincidence. As always, stay safe and healthy! And happy reading!


	3. My Sisters and My Brothers, Still

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's chosen family continue to lavish him with their love and support on the eve of his battle. Dustin, especially, is there for him while he struggles to process everything happening to (and around) him as he undergoes surgery and begins treatment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to admit, I struggled with some writer's block in this part. Hopefully, the tone is not too uneven and it's still within character. The lyrics from the songs included in this part are from: 1) "Lucky Star" by Madonna and 2) "Don't You (Forget About Me)" by Simple Minds. As always, I hope this part moves you in some way, and you are staying safe and health out there!

Mike layered the icing thickly on the cake that Max and El had helped Nancy bake. “I still don’t know why we’re doing this. Why are we celebrating the fact that Steve has cancer,” he huffed irritably.

  
Usually, it was Dustin who was the first to come to the defense whenever it concerned Steve, but this time Lucas beat him to it, “Dude, we’re not celebrating the fact that he has cancer. We’re celebrating _Steve_.”

  
It’s not that Mike didn’t like Steve. The opposite was true, in fact. He had come to care for him quite a bit lately. Steve had proven that not only was he a good friend to all of them, but yes -even a member of The Party. What Mike was feeling was helplessness, and he didn’t know how to give voice to that. So, it came out as thinly veiled annoyance. “Whatever. It’s stupid.”

  
Dustin paused in his decoration endeavors and climbed down the stepladder. His voice dropped to a dangerously low level. “If you think it’s so stupid, you can leave. None of us need your negativity right now, especially Steve.”

  
“Yeah, what’s your problem, Wheeler,” Max exclaimed.

  
“My _problem is_ , I don’t see how this is helping Steve.” Mike continued to angrily slap icing on the cake.

  
Dustin came up behind Mike. “Look at me.” Mike initially ignored him, so Dustin got louder. “Look at me, Mike!” Mike reluctantly turned around, back up against the kitchen counter. “We all read through the books last night that I got from the library and saw how _abysmal_ the five-year survival rate is for Steve’s type of cancer. The numbers varied, but they were all less than twenty percent. I hope _to God_ he beats this; I really do. But the reality is, he might not. And if Steve only has a couple years or even months left, it’s going to be filled with nothing but hospitals and treatments and sickness.”

  
Dustin’s voice was cracking, and his eyes were getting suspiciously wet. “There’s absolutely nothing any of us can do to change that, and it kills me. It kills me, Mike! But what we can do is give him something good to hang on to. If it’s in my power to provide him a little bit of happiness in the middle of all this, then I’m going to do it – no matter what you think.”

  
El slid in next to Mike and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Steve is a good person. He always cheers us up.” Her wide eyes sadly implored him. “His turn.”

  
Mike deflated under the weight of their words. He had read the books too, and the information in them had rattled him. Both El and Dustin spoke the truth. “You’re right. You’re all right. I’m sorry. But he’s not going to think this is weird?”

  
It was unusual for Mike to give in and apologize so easily. Dustin smiled to show all was forgiven. Fighting tonight wasn’t going to solve anything – or help Steve. “Maybe, but he’s used to our weirdness and hangs around us anyway.”

  
Nancy and Will emerged from the hallway where they had commandeered one of the bedrooms for wrapping gifts. They both felt the remnants of tension in the air. “What’s going on, guys,” Will asked.

  
“N-nothing,” Mike stammered out, embarrassed. “Just trying to decide what to write on the cake. It’s not his birthday, and ‘congratulations’ seems wildly inappropriate.”

  
“What about ‘Good Luck’? It’ll match the banner,” Lucas suggested. Max nodded her approval, although it still didn’t feel quite right.

  
Will grew thoughtful. “What about just keeping it simple? How about ‘We Love You, Steve’?”

  
Dustin’s face lit up. “I like it.” The rest of the Party agreed wholeheartedly.

  
“How about you write it, Will? You have the best handwriting,” Mike offered Will the cake decorating instruments which he accepted.

  
Joyce and Jonathan walked in, arms laden down with bags. Their feet kicked up brightly colored balloons strewn haphazardly across the floor. “Oh kids, the house looks great!” Joyce began unloading the groceries. “And the cake is perfect,” she praised.

  
“The gifts are taken care of,” Nancy chimed in.

  
Joyce glanced at her watch. “Everything’s right on time. They should be here any minute.”

  
Jonathan disappeared into his room and returned carrying a boombox. “What? Every party needs music.” He fiddled with the cords and tuned the radio to a local station as he heard the revving of an engine. “They’re here,” he called.

  
Six heads appeared in the living room window, and quickly ducked back down again. Hopper laughed as he parked his cruiser. “Not really subtle, are they? You ready for this, kid?”

  
Steve grinned despite himself as he hopped down from the truck. “No, they’re really not. Let’s do this.”

  
“Remember to act surprised.” Hopper swung open the front door and bellowed, “Anybody home?”

  
The kids waited until Steve had fully crossed the threshold before they jumped forward and hollered “Surprise” in unison. Someone threw confetti on him. He didn’t even really have to feign shock as the volume at which they shouted at him shook his eardrums and was enough to make his heart skip a beat.

  
Steve took in the balloons and streamers and gigantic banner stretched across the doorway. “Wow, you guys. This…this is amazing. You did all this for me?”

  
Will’s eye gleamed with excitement. “Yeah, and we got all your favorite foods for dinner. Hopper’s going to grill. Can you believe it?”

  
“Hey, I heard that.” Hopper rummaged around the kitchen until he found the proper utensils. “I’m going to go fire her up and show you all how it’s done.”

  
Will’s joy was contagious. Lucas tugged Steve further into the living room. “And there’s more surprises to come. Just wait!”

  
Steve couldn’t help himself. “Like what,” he posed the question, mostly to get a rise out of Dustin – and he wasn’t disappointed.

  
“Seriously, Steve?”

  
“C’moooooon. I want to know since you brought it up,” Steve pretended to beg.

  
The lisp became more noticeable with Dustin’s agitation. “They’re called surprises for a reason. Jesus! You’re like a child. Did anyone ever mention that patience is a virtue?”

  
“Alright, alright,” Steve raised his hands in mock surrender. “I should probably go help Hopper, anyway. After all, I know how you all like your burgers.”

  
Dustin became indignant. “You’re the guest of honor, dumbass. You’re not allowed to lift a finger. Just enjoy yourself, for Christ’s sake.”

  
“He’s right. Come on. Dance with me,” Max grabbed his hand and started to sway her hips.

  
“Madonna? Really? This song is so last year,” Steve shook his hair with faux haughtiness, but accepted Max’s invitation:

  
_You must be my lucky star_  
_'Cause you make the darkness seem so far_  
_And when I'm lost you'll be my guide_  
_I just turn around and you're by my side_

  
It didn’t take much convincing for El to join in, as Madonna had become one of her favorite musical discoveries. Much to Mike’s dismay, El was waving him over. Before the next song was even finished everyone, even Jonathan and Nancy, had made their way onto the makeshift dance floor. The balloons rhythmically floated upwards with each movement of their feet.

  
Even though they were last two to participate, Jonathan and Nancy were the first to slip away. Jonathan wanted to shoot some candid photos of the evening and had left his camera in the bedroom. He was greeted upon his return by Steve’s slightly offkey singing:

_Don't you forget about me  
I'll be alone, dancing you know it baby  
Going to take you apart  
I'll put us back together at heart, baby_

_Don't you, forget about me  
Don't, don't, don't, don't  
Don't you, forget about me_

Jonathan captured the moments as fast as the shutter would allow. Steve dipping Max - _click_! Steve spinning El around and around – _click_! Will and Lucas pretending to hold microphones as they sang along with Steve, their three faces only inches apart – _click_! Mike, sliding the Ray Bans out of Steve’s pocket and placing them over his own eyes, as the two danced briefly with one another – _click_! Dustin perched on Steve’s back as Steve supported the curly haired boy’s weight with his hands - _click_!

  
The group was so absorbed in the fun, they practically ignored Hopper announcing that the burgers and hotdogs were ready. It took some cajoling from Joyce to finally pull them away from their dance party for the meal.

  
Dinner was a lively affair. And the food was _so good_. Steve’s body may not have cooperated yesterday, but he inexplicably devoured everything put in front of him and was able to pack away _a lot_ at dinner tonight which pleased everyone to no end, but especially Hopper.

  
“I hope everyone saved room for dessert,” Joyce enticed. “Who wants to do the honors?”

  
Mike glanced around the table and silently requested that it be him. Steve wasn’t aware of his attitude earlier, but he wanted to extend an olive branch just the same. He presented the lopsided and slightly lumpy cake to Steve whose eyes had misted over reading the message. “You guys…thank you! I…I don’t know what to say…This is too much!”

  
“But there’s more,” Max cried with enthusiasm. “You’ve still got presents to open!”

  
“Wait, what? Nononono. You’ve all done so much already. That’s too much,” Steve repeated.

  
“Go on. I’ll slice the cake up and bring you all a piece,” Joyce urged as she went to take the cake back into the kitchen. Jonathan snapped a photo before she whisked it away.

  
Max and Will had each grabbed onto one of Steve’s arms and led him over to the couch. Once he sat down El curled into his side and laid a small package in his lap. “Open,” she said simply.

  
“Wait, before you do that, let me explain,” Dustin rushed out. “There is a running theme. Based on our research last night, we wanted to give you things that might be useful or make you more comfortable in the coming weeks.” Dustin turned to the rest of the group. “Okay, proceed.”

  
Lucas retrieved a larger present and sat it next to Steve. “Mine and El’s kinda go together. But open her’s first.”

  
Steve did as he was told and removed the paper from the smaller item first. “Socks,” El said “Fuzzy.”

  
Steve could barely squeak out a "thanks" before Lucas placed the larger present in his lap. He tore the paper off. Inside was a huge, fluffy blanket with bright geometric patterns. “See, apparently chemo makes a lot of people feel cold all the time so we thought these things might help keep you warm and make the hospital feel more homey.”

  
“That’s really sweet you two. Thank you!” Steve hugged each of them.

  
Nancy stepped forward and handed him a hard, rectangular package. She gave him a sly smile as he opened it and realized the contents. “I knew you didn’t have one because I destroyed your old Walkman and I thought you might want one to take with you.”

  
“Thanks, Nance. I love it, but it’s too much! I can’t accept this,” Steve tried to protest.

  
“No, it’s not, Steve. Like I said, I owed you a replacement anyway. Plus, Max’s gift goes along with mine. Don’t disappoint the poor girl.” Nancy was playing dirty to get him to accept the somewhat extravagant gift, and she knew it.

  
Max shyly handed him her gift. She gave him some assorted cassette tapes. “This way you can still listen to music without disturbing the other patients. And there’s some relaxation and visualization tapes in there that are supposed to help with pain and nausea. I think it’s called guided imagery. I don’t know if that stuff works, but it’s worth a shot, right?” She looked hopeful.

  
“That’s really awesome, Max!” Steve picked up the first cassette tape in the pile. “Madonna, huh? Thanks, Lucky Star.” He bopped her on the nose with the cassette and then drew her in for a hug.

  
Mike brought his oddly shaped package forward which Steve ripped into immediately. “Oh, it’s a teddy bear pillow. How cute!”

  
“Um, it’s an Ewok. The hospital pillows are usually shit so this is so you’ll be more comfortable. And,” Mike opened a hidden compartment on the pillow, “you can slide an ice pack or a heating pad into here and hold it against whatever’s hurting. You know, if you need to.”

  
“I’m just messing with you, Mike. It’s an Ewok. I knew that. But seriously, this will come in handy, I’m sure. Thanks man!” Steve knew that Mike might reject a hug, so he punched him lightly on the arm instead.

  
Will and Jonathan went next. Will handed Steve one of his gifts. Steve was slightly bewildered to what they were. “They’re ginger candy. Ginger is supposed to help with nausea,” Will explained. “I don’t know if they’ll work, but it’s worth a try. Plus, it might help with the mouth sores.” Will reached behind his back and presented Steve with his second gift – a drawing. It was a large image of Steve, dressed in a Superman t-shirt with a cape affixed to it. He was holding the nailbat, surrounded by the kids. The caption read: "Our Hero" at the top of the page, and at the bottom, "We Believe in Steve".

  
Steve was so stunned he couldn’t respond at first. The drawing was an incredible likeness of all of them, but besides Will’s jaw-dropping talent was the idea that these kids held him in such high esteem. It all rendered him speechless. Will mistook his silence for disapproval. “I know it’s corny…”

  
“Oh my God, no! Are you kidding? This is amazing little Byers,” Steve fawned over the sketch and traced the edges reverently.

  
“I thought you could hang it up in your hospital room and have something nice to look at besides all those white walls.” Will was likely remembering his time spent in a medical facility.

  
“Oh, most definitely. It’ll be front and center. I love it! Thank you so much!” Steve embraced Will from the side.

  
“This is from me, man. It’s kinda goes with Will’s. Same principle, at least,” Jonathan handed Steve a slender package. As Steve ripped the paper off, Jonathan explained. “See, I took some time to develop the pictures from last night and framed them so you could take them with you.”

  
Steve thumbed through the photos. “It seems kinda unfair that there’s all this artistic talent in one family,” Steve teased. “That’s really awesome though, man! Thank you!”

  
Dustin’s barely restrained anticipation came spilling out, “Now for the big finale. The first one is from me, but Mrs. Byers and Hopper made sure we all had one like it. Now hurry up and open it!”

  
“Okay, geez! Calm down or you’re gonna pee your pants,” Steve joked, but did as Dustin had commanded. He was astonished to see a bigger walkie talkie with a longer antenna and more dials.

  
“That’s a longer range walkie talkie. We can literally talk to each other anywhere in Hawkins. Isn’t it great?” Dustin, in his barely contained glee, almost didn’t notice that Mrs. Byers was trying to hand him a piece of cake.

  
“Well, the hospital does have phones, ya know,” Steve quipped sarcastically as he accepted a piece of cake.

  
Dustin stabbed at the chocolate confection. “Yeah, okay smartass. They don’t let calls through after visiting hours are over, and this way, if you’re scared or lonely or sick or just wanna talk, you can reach us whenever, wherever. And vice versa.”

  
Steve arose from his seat of honor and wrapped his arms around Dustin and squeezed tight. Steve spoke low into his ear so only Dustin could hear, “Dude, thank you! I know everyone pitched in, but this whole night has you written all over it. It means more than you know.”

  
Sometimes Steve’s insight took Dustin’s breath away. This was one of those times. “Well, you deserve something good, Steve. I hope…I hope tonight made you smile. A real one.”

  
Steve reluctantly pulled away from the hug and ran a hand through his hair. He attempted to calm himself down as everyone was settling down and lazily consuming their cake. Dustin’s words had nearly sparked another emotional torrent. Steve wanted to express his gratitude, but he was unsure how to do that without completely breaking down. But he had to try. “So, um yeah…you all…you’re all so amazing. I don’t know how I…What I’d do if…” Steve cleared his throat to try to get rid of the lump. “This is just so…it means…I just want to say…”

  
It was difficult to watch Steve struggle with his emotions, unable to verbally express what he wished to. Dustin interceded on his behalf. “Yeah, we know we’re pretty awesome. And…you’re welcome.” Steve shot him a grateful, albeit watery, look.

  
Joyce began gathering discarded plates and napkins. “I hate to be _that Mom_ , but we have to get up super early in the morning. Maybe we should get ready for bed and put on a movie or something.”

  
There were some small groans, but everyone knew she was right and broke apart to begin their nightly rituals. Steve followed Jonathan into his bedroom where they each got changed into pajamas, backs to one another. “So, do you always have your camera with you?”

  
Jonathan held his breath. The last time Steve had shown any interest in his camera, it had gotten broken. Jonathan knew Steve wasn’t like that anymore – and never really was, but it was still a painful memory. “Well, not _always_. But a lot of the time, yeah.”

  
“The photos you took yesterday…I have kinda a weird favor to ask you.” Jonathan was intrigued and turned to face Steve, now fully dressed. “It’s just there’s not…a lot of photos of me. My parents never…just like school photos and stuff. It’s not like an ego thing or anything.” Steve tried to organize what he wanted to say. “It’s just…Dustin was really upset one night. He couldn’t really remember what his dad looked like, and he couldn’t find a photo of the two of them together, and it destroyed him. If something should happen to me-“

  
“Steve, you can’t think like that,” Jonathan interrupted. It came out harsher than he meant it to.

  
“I don’t _want_ to think like that, but I can’t exactly help it. I just though it’d be nice, you know, if something did happen, that they had something to hold onto. A memory or something. It’s dumb. Forget I said anything.” Steve waved a dismissive hand in front of his face.

  
Steve drifted over to the bed and sat down, slumped over like the weight of the world was on his shoulders which given the circumstances, it probably was. Jonathan sat next to him and bumped Steve’s knee with his fist. “It’s not dumb at all, Steve. I’d be happy to do that for you, man.”

  
“I know you’re going to be going away to college in a couple months so it can’t be like, an all the time thing.”

  
“No, but I can do it while I’m here. And I still have the video camera Bob bought us. Maybe I can show you how to use it. I mean, a video is just as good, right,” Jonathan proposed.

  
“That’s a great idea. I’d really like that.” Steve smiled in relief and Jonathan returned it before he began stripping the bedding off his bed and throwing it on the floor. “What are you doing?”

  
Both teenagers stood and Jonathan wrestled the mattress on its side. “Oh, I’m taking my mattress into the living so not everyone has to sleep on the floor. I’ll probably grab Will’s too, unless you want to sleep in there again.”

  
“I’m fine in the living room.” Steve picked up the other end of the mattress. “At least let me help you.”

  
“Nonono. I got it. You passed out last night. You really should take it easy.” Jonathan certainly didn’t want a repeat performance. Seeing Steve like that was like a punch in the gut and rudely drove home how ill Steve really was.

  
“I didn’t pass out,” Steve scoffed. “Just _almost_. Look, I admit I was in no shape to do this last night, and I definitely won’t be tomorrow. But right now, I’m fine, I swear. So, please let me help.”

  
Jonathan could read the desperation in Steve’s face. It wasn’t just a _want_ to do this, but a _need_. He was grasping at straws, trying to retain any semblance of his previous, healthy self. And Jonathan couldn’t deny him that. “Okay, thanks, man.”

  
The pair maneuvered the mattress into the living room, and then went to work on Will’s. By the time they finished with the last mattress, Dustin had claimed the other one. “Nobody say a word. I didn’t get a mattress or the couch last time. Besides, I’m sharing with Steve.”

  
“What? You are? But it’s like a twin mattress,” Steve’s words were abnormally clipped as the air he needed to form them was drastically diminished.

  
“It’s a double and you’re built like a twig. So, hop in.” Dustin pulled the covers back and fluffed the pillow next to him.

  
“Well, I’ll sleep on the floor if I get to choose the movie,” Mike volunteered. Will readily agreed to join him, and the rest of the arrangements fell into place just as easily.

  
Steve’s eyes drooped more and more as the giant marshmallow man stomped through the city. Soft snores filled the room, and Steve had been pretty sure that he was the only one still awake. But not for long which was remarkable really, considering how much was on his mind.

  
Dustin shifted restlessly against Steve. His voice broke the still of the night. “Steve, you still awake?”

  
“Barely.”

  
“Sorry, I just…Never mind. You don’t need my shit,” Dustin seemed to change his mind.

  
“C’mon, don’t do that. Talk to me,” Steve gently persuaded.

  
Dustin hesitated, mulling over his thoughts. “It’s okay that I’m scared, right?”

  
“Sure, I mean, I am. I’ve never had surgery before,” Steve disclosed. “And, of course the rest of it, I mean…”

  
“Never?” Dustin felt Steve move his head back and forth against the pillow. “I’ve had a few. It’s not so bad. You just sorta…fall asleep, and then it’s over before you know it,” he reassured his older friend. “It’s like you said, the rest of it. It’s always sucked to see you hurt, and I hate that this is happening to you.”

  
“I’m glad it’s me and not someone else,” Steve whispered.

  
“Well, I’m not,” Dustin grew angry at how considerate Steve was of others’ wellbeing at the expense of his own. “And neither is anyone in here!”

  
“All I meant was, my whole world is pretty much in this house right now, and the thought of any one of you going through this…”

  
“Yeah, that’s exactly how we – how _I_ feel,” Dustin’s voice betrayed his tears.

  
“Oh.” The realization hit Steve like a ton of bricks. It just never occurred to him that he might’ve have affected the others the way he had been affected by their presence.

  
“Oh,” Dustin echoed snidely, trying but failing to muffle his sniffles. “We all know how strong you are, Steve, but you don’t have to act like it all the time. It’s okay to be sad for yourself, you know. I know I am – sad for you, I mean.”

  
“Scooch over this way.” Steve stretched his arm out. At first, it didn’t seem as if Dustin was going to accept the offered comfort, but eventually his mop of hair found its way nestled into the junction of Steve’s shoulder. “It’s okay to be sad, but I wish you weren’t. And I’m sad, too. Really sad. And a bunch of other things. I haven’t figured out exactly how I feel, I guess. This is just happening so fast. I don’t know.”

  
“Well, if it’s okay for me to be scared and sad then it is most definitely okay for you to feel however the hell you want. We’re going to love you through this no matter what.” Dustin yawned and flung an arm across Steve’s stomach.

  
It was such a simple, direct statement, but it kept him up thinking long after Dustin’s breaths had evened out. This whole ordeal was terrible, but the word he heard throughout with overwhelming frequency was not “cancer”, but “love”. Steve didn’t quite know what to do with that. He did, though – love the people in this house. He just hadn’t loved and had it meaningfully returned. Eventually, he forced himself to concentrate on matching Dustin’s breathing until he dropped off, too. Neither boy had moved an inch, and were awoken in the same position they fell asleep in.

  
The mood in the morning was decidedly more somber than the night before. Even the car ride to the hospital was a hushed affair, no one in either car daring to break the silence. The hospital loomed above them and was more menacing than Hawkins Lab had ever been. This monstrous building would be Steve’s home for the next couple weeks, at least, and his home away from home for months beyond that.

  
Hopper lifted the bags out of the trunk and was by Steve’s side as he went through the registration process. The rest of them had hung back until they were directed to the third floor of the tower where Steve’s room was waiting for him.

  
The room was much more spacious and superficially less clinical than anyone expected. The walls were more of a soft yellow than a glaring white. The large window overlooked a garden courtyard and let in a good amount of natural light that successfully beat back the drabness. An overstuffed couch was set underneath the window with a leather clad recliner adjacent to it.

  
“Whoa, it’s like a mini-apartment minus the kitchen,” Lucas said aloud.

  
The nursing assistant introduced herself and explained that the hospital rooms on the oncology unit were a little nicer since the patients there tended to have more prolonged stays. It didn’t prevent the slightly nauseating antiseptic smell from wafting through the air, however. And as Steve’s eyes wandered to the wall behind the hospital bed, there was no mistaking where they were with all the buttons and equipment littering it. He didn’t even want to know what it was all for.

  
She acclimated him to the room and showed him the call light. “You’ll need to get changed into the gown before the nurse comes in to hook you up and start your IV.”

  
“I thought I could wear my own clothes,” Steve said absently.

  
“Not today, sorry. The operating rooms are sterile. Hospital issue only. And you might want to use the restroom before you get connected. We count everything that goes in and out so there’s a urinal in the bathroom. I’ll be back to get your vitals in a bit,” she added.

  
It got extremely personal very quickly. Hopper was aware of Steve’s growing disquiet. “We can leave while you get changed and settled if you want us to.”

  
Steve gave a tiny shake of his head. If possible, his voice was even smaller. “No, that’s okay. I’ll just get changed in the bathroom.” He scooped up the gown and frowned at it as he closed the bathroom door behind him.

  
He was in there so long, Hopper felt the need to go check on the boy. “Steve, you good?”

  
The knob turned and the door opened slowly. Steve took one step out and it was clear he was holding the back of the gown closed with one fist. “I can’t get the stupid thing tied.”

  
Hopper spotted the shakiness in Steve’s free hand, “Turn around.”

  
The police chief pried Steve’s fingers from the back of the gown and fastened the bottom tie. Unfortunately, with no one gripping the top, the gown gaped open revealing Steve’s back for all to see.

  
Mike was the first to comment on it. “Steve! Your back…is that a rash?”

  
“What?” Steve hurried back into the bathroom and turned so that he was facing away from the mirror. “Oh, that. Not really, but kinda. It’s really just bleeding under the skin. There’s a name for it; I just forget.” He reemerged from the bathroom and let Hopper tie the top of the gown.

  
“Petechiae,” Dustin supplied. “I read about it in one of the books. It’s normal – well, not _normal_ , but normal with Steve’s condition. It doesn’t hurt, does it, Steve?”

  
“No.”

  
The whole situation was a little too familiar, and Hopper had to strive to push down the memories. “You’re good to go, kid. You might want to plant your butt in that bed. They’ll be back before too long,” he said and no sooner did the door to the room swing open.

  
There was a flurry of activity surrounding him as his vitals were taken and he was connected to various monitors. He answered a barrage of questions regarding his medical history. Steve endured all this without complaint, but when it was time for the IV, his features blanched considerably. He really hoped it would only take one try. The bruises were a testament to how many pokes he had sustained in past weeks.

  
“You look ridiculous in that hat, Steve,” Dustin giggled, referring to the paper-thin blue head covering commonly worn by surgical patients.

  
“Gee thanks, dipshit.” Steve held out a spare one in Dustin’s direction with his right arm, his left currently being prodded. “Let’s see how good you look.”

  
“Gladly. Although I highly doubt it can contain all my magnificent curls,” Dustin accepted the cap and donned it, tucking his hair in. “What do you think?”

  
“Oh, it’s definitely you,” Steve laughed, although it was interlaced with a wince as the needle was inserted.

  
“Very hot,” Max mockingly agreed as Lucas raised his eyebrows to protest. “Smokin’.”

  
“Bitchin’,” El added, one side of her mouth turned up.

  
The nurse finished hanging the bag of saline on the IV pole and patted Steve’s arm. “And you’re all set. They’ll be up to get you shortly.”

  
The atmosphere grew heavier, but Jonathan was determined to keep it light for Steve’s sake, what Dustin had done not lost on him. He reached into his bag and pulled out his camera. “Dustin, move back over towards the bed. I so have to get this on film.” He depressed the button as the pair made goofy faces at the camera. “This is such great blackmail material. You have no idea.”

  
Despite the distractions, Joyce could see that Steve’s nerves were starting to get the best of him. It was written all over his tight posture and the way his eyes flitted around the room, never settling on any one thing for too long. She positioned herself on the chair placed next to the bed and rubbed his arm soothingly, mindful of the blood pressure cuff and oxygen monitor clipped to his finger.

  
A light knock at the door set everybody on edge, knowing what it meant. A gurney rolled through the doorway propelled by an orderly. Joyce longed to reach up and stroke Steve’s hair for comfort, but since it was covered, she settled for a pat on the arm instead.

  
Steve got himself on the gurney as the nurse from earlier moved some equipment around and kept the lines from getting tangled up. Hopper maneuvered himself so he could lay a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “We’ll be here when you wake up. It’s gonna be okay, kid.”

  
“You are welcome to wait up here or in the surgical waiting room if you prefer,” the nurse offered.

  
“Probably best if we stay here. We take up a lot of room,” Hopper said.

  
“Okay, someone will come get you when it’s time.” The nurse walked out, the gurney coming behind.

  
The group followed the gurney out of the room and down the hall to the elevator, calling out well wishes and reassurances. Before the elevator doors slid closed, Steve gave a minute wave and a shaky smile.

  
Hopper turned to Joyce. “I don’t know about you, but I could use a cigarette.”

  
“Yeah. Yeah. Jonathan? Nancy? Do you mind staying with the kids for a minute,” Joyce requested.

  
“No, Mom. Go on. We got this.” Jonathan and Nancy led the kids back to the room.

  
About an hour later, the kids were getting restless. “They said one hour. They lied,” El ground out.

  
Hopper sighed. “The operation takes about an hour, yes. But they had to get him down there, do the surgery, and let him wake up a little before they bring him back up. It’s probably going to be closer to two or three.” El looked displeased but said no more.

  
“Why don’t we go grab an early lunch,” Joyce suggested. “That way we’ll be back here when he wakes up.”

  
No one was incredibly enthusiastic about the idea, but it made the most sense, so the kids reluctantly followed her to the cafeteria. Hopper elected to stay behind to wait.

  
As it turned out, Hopper was right about the length of time. It was a full three hours before Steve was brought back upstairs. The group had made it back from lunch an hour before that.

  
Steve was now being transferred to his hospital bed and reconnected to all the machines he was before. There was an additional tube connected to the wall and surrounding Steve’s head, coming to rest in his nostrils. Will was familiar with the apparatus and became concerned. “Why is Steve on oxygen? Did something happen during the surgery?”

  
Joyce, who along with Hopper, had gotten to see Steve briefly in the recovery room and had had the reasoning for the oxygen explained to her. So, she repeated what the doctor had told them to her son. “The doctor said the surgery went very well. Everything looks good. Steve’s just been really sleepy which is normal for a first surgery. The oxygen will just help the anesthesia clear out of his system and wake him up a bit faster. That’s all.”

  
“So, it’s not permanent,” Max asked.

  
“Oh no, sweetie. Just for a few more hours probably until he’s more alert.”

  
Dustin crept toward the bed and studied his friend. Steve’s complexion seemed even paler under the harsh fluorescent lighting. There was a small, one-inch bandage on the left side of his neck and his gown was pulled down to reveal a slightly larger bandage on his chest. The IV and the tubes up his nose added to his sickly appearance. Dustin very carefully removed the head covering and set the puff of Steve’s hair free. “He would hate to see his hair right now.”

  
There were murmurs of agreement throughout the room. It was such a ludicrous, yet true, statement. If Steve were awake, he would most definitely be fussing with it. But he wasn’t conscious enough to care.

  
Once Steve _was_ awake and talking, Jonathan and Nancy would take the kids home. Either Hopper or Joyce was going to stay overnight, but Steve had been adamant the kids not be stuck in the hospital all day and night just to watch him sleep.

  
It was almost dinnertime before Steve’s eyes opened to slits and he started searching around the room. Joyce was the first to come forward. “Mom? I didn’t think you were coming,” he croaked out, not fully back to his senses yet.

  
“Sweetie, it’s Joyce…Byers.”

  
“Oh right.” He was far too drowsy to be properly embarrassed, as he normally would have been. Joyce busied herself pouring a glass of ice water for Steve, so he didn’t see the heartbreak written across her face. She allowed him to sip it through a straw. “Sorry. Thanks, Mrs. Byers.”

  
The other kids heard the slip-up and their hearts collectively dropped. Steve never discussed his parents, but it was clear he had been left alone to deal with the cancer without his biological family’s support. So Mrs. Byers, Hopper, and the rest of The Party had stepped up. Steve wished his parents were here, wanted them to be here, just wanted them to care, but they just…didn’t. It was a difficult situation for all parties involved to accept without further damaging Steve.

  
Steve nodded back off for a total of an hour before he was able to wake up a bit more. As he started to stir, he glanced around the room, fully taking in where he was. “Is it over?”

  
Joyce leaned over him and gently laid a hand on his good shoulder. “Yeah, sweetie. You did good.”

  
Steve closed his eyes and nodded. He shifted uncomfortably which Will, in particular noticed. “Are you in pain, Steve?”

  
Steve seemed to think hard for a minute. “A little, but not too bad, little Byers.”

  
Hopper approached the other side of the bed and rested his hands on the side rail. “We can get you some pain medicine in a bit, but you haven’t eaten all day. Do you think you can handle a little something? Like jello or soup?”

  
“I’ll try. Soup’d be okay, I guess.”

  
Hopper returned with a bowl of broth. He moved the tray over the bed and helped Steve sit up. Steve struggled to get the spoon to his lips with his dominant hand, attached to so many wires. He attempted to feed himself left-handed, but a shooting pain in his shoulder stopped him from going any further.

  
“Just a little pain, huh Steve? Yeah, right,” Dustin scoffed.

  
“Okay, let’s try this.” Hopper poured the contents of the bowl into a styrofoam cup and stuck a straw in it. “See if this works any better. And I’m going to go see about getting you some pain medicine.”

  
Hopper returned with the nurse who injected a clear fluid into his IV. Steve was informed it was morphine. Whatever it was, was strong. His eyelids were growing heavier and heavier and the pain was growing distant. He was trying to finish the broth. He really was. But it was a losing battle.

  
The cup was tilting dangerously. Nancy removed it from his hand. “I think maybe we should get the kids home and let you rest.” Jonathan and the two adults agreed. Steve couldn’t honestly recall if he had responded or not.

  
The kids came up individually to say their goodbyes, but Dustin lingered a little longer. “I’m glad you’re okay, Steve. Get some rest, okay? And take the pain medicine if you need it.”

  
Somehow Steve’s hand found its way onto Dustin’s head, and he ruffled his hair. “Thanks for being here, man.”

  
Dustin gave him a toothless grin. “Anytime, dumbass. I’ll be back first thing in the morning. Promise,” Dustin waved as he walked out the door. “See you tomorrow.”

  
Both Hopper and Steve heard Dustin’s voice trailing down the hallway, “You’re going to pick me up first thing in the morning, right? We’ll be here by 8 am? Because I promised him I’d be here when he gets hooked up. If any of you assholes make me miss it…”

  
Hopper chuckled. “Boy, does that kid love you.” He expected a retort from Steve, but when he didn’t get one, he looked up. Steve was already back out. “Not a bad idea, kid. Guess I’ll do the same.” He stretched himself out, ready for a long night on the sofa.

  
The pair, surprisingly, slept through the night which was a blessing because life got moving pretty early within the hospital walls. The group arrived shortly after eight that morning and Dustin was already in a snit. “I told you assholes to be on time, but did you listen? Noooo. And now we’re late. If we missed it, I’m going to personally-“

  
“You’re going to what,” Mike snapped.

  
It was way too early for this. Nancy sighed around her cup of coffee. “I don’t know how Steve gets these kids anywhere on time. They’re impossible! And I only had to deal with half of them.”

  
“Yeah, I know,” Jonathan agreed.

  
El passed Hopper his cup of coffee. “Steve is…gone?” The hospital bed was empty save for the mussed blanket.

  
Hopper rubbed a hand across his bleary eyes. “They took him down to radiology a little while ago to double check the placement of his port. If everything’s okay, they’ll access it and re-bandage it before they send him back up. Then they’ll get him hooked up and start the chemo up here.”

  
“So early,” Joyce was aghast.

  
“Yeah, well…,” Hopper sipped his coffee. “Believe it or not, they let him take a shower and change into his own clothes first.”

  
“Even with stitches,” Joyce asked.

  
“Well, he couldn’t get them wet. But Steve was very determined.”

  
“Yeah, you can’t tell him anything,” Dustin acknowledged. “Speak of the devil…”

  
Steve was rolled into the room in a wheelchair. He got himself back in the bed easily now that he wasn’t attached to anything.

  
“Hey Steve,” Lucas greeted him.

  
“Hey, man,” Steve returned.

  
“How are you feeling? You certainly _look_ better,” Max observed. The oxygen was off and the IV in his arm was capped off.

  
“Fine. Just fine,” Steve was clearly distracted by the nurse arriving with an armload of supplies.

  
“Okay, Steve. First, I’m going to draw some blood and then get the process started, okay?” It was the same nurse from yesterday. He wished he could remember her name. Steve could only nod in response to her, though. It wasn’t really as if he had a choice in the matter, anyway.

  
She donned a mask and gloves and pulled clear, plastic tubing out from underneath Steve’s black t-shirt. The kids, who were naturally curious, wondered why she had to wear a mask. She patiently explained to them as she drew the blood from the port that it was to prevent infection since it was what they called a central line.

  
The kids, particularly Dustin, was pleased at her taking the time to satisfy their inquisitiveness. She completed her first task and then held up a syringe with clear fluid. “So, this is a nausea medicine. We give it to you first to try to curb it, but if you need something else just give a holler.” She pushed the fluid in and then proceeded to connect him the IV pump. It was just saline at the moment, but that was about to change.

  
She continued to hang bags adorned with bright neon stickers from the hooks on the pole, expertly threading tubing into the top of the pump. She hesitated before turning the dial. “Are you ready?”

  
Steve took in a few short, shaky breaths and willed himself to remain stoic, but it was so hard. He wasn’t ready _at all_. But he had to be. There was no other way to get better. The Leukemia wasn’t just going to magically disappear on its own, no matter how intensely he wished it away.

  
Steve wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He wanted to rant about how _unfair_ this was – how his life had barely got started. But in the end, he still had a _chance_ , and that was more than Hopper’s daughter – and a lot of others - had right now. So, in the end, all he could do was utter the words: “Yeah, I’m ready.”

  
Steve was straining to conceal his emotions, especially in front of the kids. He didn’t want to scare or worry them. But the more he stared at their crestfallen, sympathetic faces and at the liquid flowing slowly into his chest, the more his face involuntarily crumpled upon itself.

  
Dustin timidly approached the bed. “Can I, Steve?” Dustin slowly put the side rail down on the side of the bed opposite the chemo. Steve tore his eyes away from the dripping bag to acknowledge the younger boy had said something to him.

  
The side rail clicked into the down position and Steve scooted over to make room, giving his silent approval to Dustin’s request. Dustin tentatively climbed into the bed and stretched out next to Steve, laying his head against his friend’s. “Shhh...It’s okay, Steve. It’s okay to be sad; those are your words.”

  
There was moisture collecting in everyone’s eyes, not just from Dustin’s words or witnessing poison dripping into the veins of someone they’d grown very fond of, but from all of it. Even Hopper found it difficult to push it down as he kept flashing back and forth between the past and the present. Sarah. Steve. Sarah. Steve. Sarah. Steve.

  
Dustin wrapped an arm around Steve’s back. Steve was suppressing his tears to the point his body was vibrating from the effort. A small, choked-back whimper escaped from low in his throat. Dustin’s heart felt like it was getting ripped from his chest as he threaded his other arm around Steve’s midriff and pulled him close like he did that day at the quarry when Steve had first told him about his cancer. “Shhh, Steve… Let it out. You don’t have to be strong all the time, remember?”

  
That was what finally broke Steve. Public displays of emotion were never something he was prone to, but somehow, with the words from last night repeated to him, the bricks in his wall were crumbling. Dustin had reached inside and sliced him open, leaving him raw and vulnerable, fully exposed before everyone. He wept bitterly into Dustin’s shoulder and released all the fear, all the uncertainty, all the frustration, all the pain of the past few days in the form of wet, guttural sobs. Dustin just held him tighter than he ever had before. “I got you, buddy. I got you.”


	4. My Lips Are Chapped and Faded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve balances his role of surrogate big brother with the harsh realities of treatment. As the side effects increase, his family, particularly Hopper and Dustin, are there to support him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible TW for very slight insinuation of sexuality and for vomiting. Steve's really put through the ringer. The pacing may be a bit slow, so it might be sped up in future parts. I'm admittedly a little rusty, not having written a multi-chaptered fic in years. Constructive criticism is always welcome. As always, happy reading and stay healthy out there!

Joyce balanced a coffee cup in each hand as she strode through the hospital entrance, Will and Lucas trailing a step behind. The sun was barely through the clouds, but she had promised Hopper she would relieve him so he could go into the station this morning. She understood his reasoning and happened to agree, but Jim was absolutely insistent that Steve have someone there with him at all times.

  
It was only the trio riding up in the tower elevator this morning because the group had collectively decided that having all of them there at once was a little overwhelming – for both the hospital and Steve. Plus, it wasn’t logistically possible to gather as a large group everyday with work schedules getting back to normal. In fact, Joyce had to go in to Melvald’s mid-morning, and Jonathan would be by sometime later to pick up Will and Lucas and drop off Max and Mike.

  
She rapped lightly on the door and didn’t have to wait too long before Hopper pulled it open, a finger to his lips. He stepped out into the hall, as Will and Lucas slipped by him to quietly set up the board game that they had brought to play.

  
“How did Steve’s night go last night,” Joyce inquired as she handed Jim his coffee.

  
He took a sip before responding, “Overall, okay. He’s just really tired. Got woken up a bunch for vitals and meds among other things, so he’s fairly pissed off.”

  
“But he’s not feeling…bad?” Joyce knew, as they all did to some degree, that although treatment was different for everyone, there were some pretty universal side effects experienced. It was just a matter of when they reared their ugly head.

  
“So far, it’s tolerable. It’s just…,” he hesitated before rephrasing what he was about to say. “Could you try to get him to eat something? He really hasn’t had much of an appetite. That’s normal, but he hasn’t even been here even a week and he’s already dropped five pounds, and…”

  
“And he didn’t have much to lose to begin with,” Joyce finished for him.

  
Jim dipped his head down. “Yeah. And I know how this is gonna wind up if he doesn’t keep his weight up.”

  
Joyce laid a hand overtop his crossed arms. “Of course, I will. Try not to worry. From what I’ve heard, Steve may have a stubborn streak, but I’m a _mother_. We can be pretty persistent.”

  
Hopper grinned at Joyce’s determination as he peaked in the door. Once he saw Steve still peacefully sleeping, he took his leave.

  
Will and Lucas glanced up from their game as she placed herself in the recliner next to the bed, sipping her coffee. Her eyes raked over the prone figure who seemed so impossibly _young_ lying there, head tilted to the side and lips parted slightly in his slumber.

  
Steve _was_ so young, but he had already been through so much. She couldn’t believe it had only been a few short weeks since this latest nightmare had begun – or at least, her involvement in it. Hopper had warned her that Steve would be contacting her, and she should help him out, but he wouldn’t elaborate. Jim had evaded the subject, only saying it wasn’t his story to tell. So, she had expected a phone call maybe, but she had been totally unprepared for the boy to show up on her doorstep - and everything that came after.

  
_Joyce raced around the house, frazzled as she dried her hair haphazardly with a towel while searching for her keys. She was due at work in under an hour and was running behind as usual. A tentative knock at the door interrupted her hurried steps._

  
_She flung open the door to see Steve Harrington standing sheepishly behind it, looking less like the former King of Hawkins High and more like a lost little boy. “Oh, Steve. You’re a little early. Jonathan hasn’t brought Will back yet.”_

_“I um…I know. I was hoping I could talk to you before, you know, they get back,” Steve was uncharacteristically shy and unsure._

  
_All at once, Joyce’s frantic state was forgotten as she recalled her conversation with Jim. She pulled him inside and sat him at the kitchen table. “Of course, sweetie! What can I do for you?”_

_Steve swallowed hard. “Um, I know…I know you don’t really know me that well, but I don’t…I didn’t know who else to ask…”_

_She could see the tinge of pink coloring his cheeks with embarrassment. Steve’s discomfort was evident, and she grabbed his hand and tried to put him at ease, “Whatever it is, honey, you can ask me.”_

_Steve averted his eyes. “I have a favor to ask. Well, two really. First, could you please not mention any of this to the kids? The Chief knows. It’s probably nothing, but I really don’t want the kids to worry, you know.”_

_Joyce’s heart took a nosedive into her stomach. If he was swearing her to secrecy to protect the kids from whatever it was – it must be something potentially awful. She gripped Steve’s hand tighter. “Of course, honey. It stays between us, I promise!”_

_“The thing is, I um…I have to have some tests done…some tests done at the hospital Thursday morning. I’m not allowed to drive myself, and um…” Steve paused, and Joyce patiently waited for him to continue. “My parents aren’t…they aren’t coming back, and Hopper has that event to cover. Could you? I mean, would you…”_

_“Sure, sweetheart. I can take you.” She lovingly tucked a long piece of his chestnut brown hair behind his ear._

  
_“You don’t have to work,” he asked timidly._

  
_She did, but she wasn’t going to tell him that. She would figure out a way to switch her shifts around. “Nope.”_

_Steve’s broad shoulders sagged in relief. “Thank you so much.” She was sure she had made the right decision then, but it was solidified when she found out exactly what kind of tests he was originally going to attempt to endure on his own._

  
_The lumbar puncture was bad enough, but the bone marrow biopsy was atrociously brutal. Joyce didn’t quite understand why there were so many medical personnel in the room until a tray containing the longest needle she had ever seen was brought in. She was thankful that Steve was on his side, back to the door and unable to see for himself._

  
_After injecting some numbing medication and giving it a few minutes to work, the doctor firmly gave directions, “Okay, Steve. It is imperative that you don’t move at all, so we’re going to help you out.”_

_Joyce internally gasped as three sets of hands held Steve down in position. His leg was pinned to the bed at an awkward angle. She desperately tried to keep Steve’s attention focused on her as she combed a hand through his hair soothingly. The doctor swabbed betadine on Steve’s hip, and gave a warning before he inserted the instrument._

  
_Both Steve’s hands shot off the side of the bed to grasp hers as he emitted a choked off scream that dissolved to barely suppressed whimpers. Joyce had certainly witnessed more than her fair share of terrible sights, but seeing Steve Harrington trying not to cry, writhing in pain while being essentially skewered as he was held down, ranked pretty high on that list._

  
_In reality, it only lasted a few minutes, but it felt like an eternity. A thick bandage was placed on the area, and Steve was rolled over onto his back and instructed to lay still for awhile. The nurse reviewed the medications and discharge instructions with Joyce and gave her the details of the follow-up appointment. It was strongly suggested that someone accompany Steve to get the results. Joyce had already decided she would be there and that she would recruit Hopper to go, as well. No one - adult or child - should have to weather this experience alone. Her sympathetic gaze wandered over to Steve, laying so small in the hospital bed, as…_

  
…he began to stir in reaction to a breakfast tray placed onto his bedside table. Joyce smiled sweetly at him. “Hey hon, breakfast is here. Do you think you could eat a bit?”

  
Steve glared sleepily at the food on his tray. He reluctantly picked up the fork and slid a bite of scrambled eggs past his lips. It immediately triggered his gag reflex and he had to fight to get it down. “I don’t think I can. Sorry,” he mumbled.

  
“Are you nauseous?” Steve nodded miserably in response. Joyce glanced at the chalkboard over her shoulder that listed when the last doses of Steve’s medications had been. “Well, looks like you could have some more nausea medicine. Do you want to try that first and then eat?”

  
Steve was quick to agree. Anything to stave off putting more of the tasteless food into his mouth. Joyce summoned the nurse who administered the medication through his IV. After fifteen minutes or so the nausea began to abate just a tiny bit. Joyce gently encouraged him to take a few more bites.

  
Despite Joyce’s insistence, Steve could only manage another forkful of eggs and a nibble of toast. He wasn’t entirely sure it would stay down. “No more. I really can’t.”

  
Joyce knew she was going to have to pick her battles, and this was not one she was likely to win. “Just promise to try to eat lunch, okay?”

  
Steve mumbled a half-hearted promise. Until Joyce was due to leave, he passed the time alternating between dozing and watching the two kids engrossed in their game, too drained to do anything else.

  
Lucas was increasingly on edge after Joyce finally left for work, something clearly on his mind. Will nudged him in the ribs and Lucas shot him a warning look which the smaller boy promptly ignored. “Lucas has something to ask you.”

  
“ _Will_!” Lucas knew he was outnumbered when Steve goaded him on, also. “Okay, fine. My cousin is getting married next Saturday. He knows I have a girlfriend and he said it was okay to bring her. But…you do know what happens at weddings, right?”

  
“Uh, people get married. Duh,” Steve kidded sarcastically.

  
“Steve, focus! Yes, they get married, but after?” Steve just gave him an expectant look. “They dance! I don’t know how to dance!”

  
“Didn’t you and Max dance at the Snow Ball?”

  
“Yes, but it was more like hugging and rocking. It wasn’t _really_ dancing. I want to know how to dance _for real_. Can you teach me how to dance, Steve?” Lucas rushed the last sentence out so fast, it almost came out as one long word.

  
“Well, you’re assuming that I even know how to,” Steve started.

  
“Forget it,” Lucas sighed.

  
“You’re not wrong. I mean, my parents did force me to take those stupid etiquette and ballroom classes when I was your age – like a proper young gentleman.” He rolled his eyes. “But there’s just one problem. We need some sort of classical music.”

  
“We’ve got it covered.” Will pulled a portable cassette player out from where it was hidden in the board game box.

  
“I knew you knew how! You’re like everyone’s cool older brother that bestows your life wisdom on your geekier younger siblings. Dustin was so right on,” Lucas exclaimed excitedly.

  
“Damn. Okay.” Steve climbed out of bed, placing a hand on his abdomen and grimacing as he bent over to unplug the IV pump. Will and Lucas couldn’t help but notice his discomfort, despite Steve’s effort to hide it.

  
“But only if you’re feeling up to it.” Lucas suddenly felt guilty for requesting Steve’s help.

  
“Don’t worry, I’m fine.” Steve guided the pole around the bed, positioning it so it both gave him enough slack in his IV tubing and enough room to move without bumping into it. “Hold out your hand like this.”

  
Lucas held his arm out stiffly to the side, palm facing outwards, mimicking Steve. Steve grasped that hand. “Okay, put your hand on my waist,” Steve instructed as he rested his hand on Lucas’s shoulder. “Now just move your feet in a box step like this. Will, could you turn on the music please?”

  
Will eagerly complied. For the next half hour, Steve patiently went through the steps with Lucas over and over, but he still wasn’t quite getting it. Will, on the other hand, glided around the room gracefully. “Here. Watch me and Will for a minute.”

  
He joined hands with Will and twirled easily around the room. Steve was delighted to hear an honest to God giggle escape from Will’s lips. It was a sound rarely heard in the past couple of years. “You’re really good at this, Will. You’ll be a real lady-killer one day.”

  
Will’s face fell and Steve realized he had said something wrong, but he couldn’t fathom what it could be. Before he could give it much thought, Lucas jumped up, “Okay, let me try again.”

  
Will yielded as the other younger teen stepped forward to resume the lesson, but Steve stopped abruptly and pressed a hand to his abdomen. “I think…I think I need a minute, guys.”

  
Steve was not one to acknowledge when he wasn’t feeling well, so the fact that he had admitted he needed a break was a little upsetting. The pair of friends exchanged a worried glance as Steve made his way over to the recliner and all but collapsed into it. “Are you okay? Do you need anything?” Will and Lucas’s voices overlapped each other.

  
“I’m okay.” Steve winced, his expression contradicting his words. “Could you maybe plug in the pump? Behind the bed.” He waved a hand in the direction of the outlet as he tried to regulate his breathing.

  
He was riding out another wave of pain as the door opened. An aide came in carrying a lunch tray. “Oh shit,” he murmured to himself as it was placed before him. Steve glared daggers at the items on the tray, as if the cuisine itself were responsible for his physical ailments.

  
Will was aware of his distaste concerning the meal, but also understood how necessary getting Steve to eat was. “You promised my mom, remember,” Will timidly reminded him.

  
“I know. But I feel bad eating in front of you guys when you haven’t had lunch yet,” Steve weakly tried to avoid consuming what was in front of him.

  
“Jonathan’s going to be here any minute. He took Max and Mike to get something to eat, and when he picks us up, we’ll go get something then. So, don’t worry about us. Please eat,” Will pleaded.

  
It was almost impossible to say no to the younger Byers brother. There was something within him – a light or a special kind of psychic pull - that made whomever came into contact with him want to do anything he asked. Steve took tiny bites in an effort to get it down. It was going about as well as his earlier meal had gone.

  
Jonathan popped his head into the room as Steve continued to struggle with lunch, “Hey man,” he greeted.

  
Steve opened his mouth to reply, but an urgent need was forming a knot in his stomach and creeping up his throat. He managed to speak to Jonathan, albeit with some difficulty, “Can you get them out of here please?”

  
Jonathan saw Steve’s eyes growing wider with alarm. Perceptive as he was, he realized what was about to happen and swiftly pulled the tray away and yanked the plug out of the socket. “Do you need any help?”

  
Steve shook his head vehemently as he moved quickly past Jonathan, unable to respond verbally at that point. He gestured frantically to the door.

  
Jonathan led the quartet of kids down the hallway to the waiting room. He made them promise to stay put, then returned to the hospital room. He paused outside the bathroom door, hearing the gags and subsequent wet splashes. Jonathan was torn between respecting Steve’s demand to be alone and rushing in there to help him somehow.

  
In truth, there was really nothing Jonathan could do for Steve except stand idly by as he spilled his guts. But sometimes just having another person nearby for support was nice. By being so indecisive, the choice was indirectly made for him. After what seemed like an eternity, he heard the toilet flush and then the water splash around in the sink.

  
Jonathan was still in his spot next to the door when it finally cracked opened, and Steve emerged. He was incredibly white and shaky. Jonathan wrapped his arm around Steve’s torso and guided both him and the IV pole back to the bed.

  
It immediately became apparent just how awful Steve must have been feeling given the fact that he didn’t put up a fight when Jonathan assisted him with getting settled back into bed. He pulled the blanket up over Steve’s shivering body and went to grab a washcloth from beside the sink. Jonathan wrung it out and placed the cool cloth against Steve’s sweaty forehead. “I can stay, you know, if you need me to.”

  
“Thank you, but no. I’m fine.” Steve squeezed his eyes shut against whatever discomfort he was still experiencing, clearly not ‘fine’.

  
“Are you sure? I can take Max and Mike back home with me and give you some time,” Jonathan said doubtfully.

  
“No, that’s okay. I think it’s passing. Really,” Steve insisted in response to Jonathan’s cynical frown.

  
“Okay, if you’re sure. Do you need anything before I go?” When Steve gave a slight shake of his head, Jonathan continued. “Nancy’ll be by later to get the kids. And I have a message from Dustin. He said he’s sorry he can’t come today, but he’s not sure if it’s his allergies or a cold and he doesn’t want to risk it. But he said to turn your walkie on because he’ll call you later.”

  
“And he calls me a mother hen?” Steve scoffed. “Okay, thanks…for everything.”

  
“You’re welcome. Feel better,” Jonathan touched Steve lightly on the shoulder and went to retrieve the kids. He brought Max and Mike back to the room with strict instructions to let Steve rest and try to keep it quiet.

  
Mike kept himself busy creating a new campaign for their next Dungeons and Dragons game, whenever that might be. He scribbled furiously in his notebook. Max flipped through the radio stations on her headphones. Eventually, she got bored of it and tossed it to the side.

  
If she was restless after just an hour, she couldn’t imagine how Steve was able to stand it being cooped up in this place for days. Max kept her footsteps light as she approached the bed, crossing her arms and resting them on the siderail.

  
Max laid her head upon her arms as she watched the medication flow, drip by slow drip, into her friend. She traced the IV line to where it poked out of Steve’s chest. It was like a shackle chaining him to this dreadful place. She thought over the injustice of it all – how Billy was packing up his things with the plans to return to California. Her jerk of a stepbrother, who had terrorized them all, was free to do whatever he wanted, but Steve, their protector, was imprisoned here by a life-threatening disease. His own body was at war with itself.

  
An image of Steve pulling Billy away from Lucas and placing his body in between Billy’s rage-filled path and all the kids flashed through her brain. It was juxtaposed with the image of the fragile boy before her. Both Steves were determined and resilient and _strong_. But while the Steve of last year fought enemies that were tangible and concrete, the Steve before her was fighting something invisible – and much more insidious and sinister. An enemy that they couldn’t punch or knock out or burn out or use psychic powers on. The more she contemplated the unfairness of it all, the closer she got to tears. “Why did this have to happen to you, of all people,” she wondered aloud.

  
Steve’s large, hazel eyes opened, and he flinched back. “Holy shit! Max!”

  
“Max! You were supposed to let him sleep,” Mike scolded.

  
“Sorry, did I wake you?”

  
“No. No, you didn’t. I think you gave me a mini-heart attack, though. Jesus Christ.” A light knock at the door halted any further remarks as the nursing assistant entered.

  
Steve patiently allowed his blood pressure, pulse, and temperature to be taken while Mike and Max watched. The thermometer beeped. “You seem to have a bit of a fever, Steve. 99.5. It’s not too bad, but we’ll definitely keep an eye on it. I’ll let your nurse know.”

  
“What’s causing it,” Max worried.

  
“Fevers are common with Leukemia. It could be lots of things, but dehydration and infection are what we really have to watch out for,” she explained.

  
Even though it wasn’t explicitly spoken about, Mike had a pretty good guess what had happened earlier. “Have you even had anything to eat or drink today, Steve,” his tone was almost accusatory, and Steve shrank back as he responded in the negative.

  
“What about a popsicle,” Max suggested. “When I have stomach things that’s usually the one thing I can get down.”

  
Steve shrugged. He knew he had to eat more, and that sounded fairly unoffensive to his digestive system. “Okay, sure.” When the assistant returned with not one, but three popsicles, Steve was a little chagrined that he had to remind the kids of their manners. “What do you say to the nice lady?”

  
Max shamefacedly realized her mistake and corrected it, but Mike couldn’t let Steve’s admonishment pass without snarky commentary, “Okay, _Dad_.” He then turned, and much more politely, uttered a “thank you”.

  
Steve couldn’t let the moment go without his own smartass remark, “Good job, _son_.”

  
“God, you two are like two three-year olds, I swear.” Both boys turned to each other and made faces.

  
The kids vigorously slurped their iced treats. Steve couldn’t exactly say he was enjoying his, but it did seem to be staying in his stomach for the time being which he was grateful for. He noticed over his grape ice that the mood had become much more solemn and Max’s brow was deeply furrowed. “What’s up, Lucky Star? You look like something’s on your mind.”

  
Normally she would punch someone in the face for calling her a nickname of any kind, but coming from Steve, it was sweet. Bittersweet, really. It was very much something a real big brother would do, and until she had met him, she hadn’t known what that felt like. It just reminded her of her earlier line of thinking about why this was happening to someone like Steve – and not someone like Billy - and got her upset all over again. Max just threw her shoulders in the air and continued sucking on the wooden stick. Steve looked around her to Mike, “Hey, Wheeler…can you take a lap?”

  
“Take a lap,” Mike spat out. “What is it with you and your sports references? Why don’t you just ask me to give you a few minutes like a normal person?” Steve arched his eyebrows at him, and Mike responded to his nonverbal cue, sounding every bit like the pissed off teenager he was. “Anything else I can do for you while I’m out, your highness?”

  
Steve ignored Mike and let him have his tantrum as he stormed out the door. Steve waved the younger girl over. “Take a seat.” Max gave him a hesitant glance. “I’m not gonna break or anything if you sit on the bed. C’mere.”

  
Max didn’t want to share those particular thoughts with anyone, let alone Steve, the subject of her despair. But she did have something she wanted to talk to him about, and she was glad Steve had dismissed Mike from the room. She could never have asked Steve for his help in front of Mike, of all people. Max got herself situated on the starched, white sheets before she began. “Okay, so Lucas’s cousin is getting married next Saturday, and he asked me to go. I said I would.”

  
“Oh?”

  
“Save the fake surprise, Steve. I know he already told you that part.” Max was amused. Steve was terrible at pretending. “But the problem is, it’s formal. And I don’t want to embarrass myself in front of his family, especially his parents. Can you teach me, like, what to do?”

  
“Like proper etiquette?” He got a nod in response. “Max, I’m sure you already know what to do, but if it makes you feel better, I can go over it with you.”

  
“Yeah, it totally would. Thanks! Also,” she added, “this might be kinda weird, but…my mom usually does my hair for dances and stuff. She’s going to be out of town visiting her sister. I’m not good at that stuff and I know you gave Dustin tips for the dance and your hair’s so rad and all…” Max trailed off bashfully. A shadow passed over Steve’s face briefly and she realized with horror the implications of what had just come out of her mouth. “Oh my God! I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking-“

  
Steve cut her off before she could go any further. “It’s okay, really. It hasn’t really started yet, so maybe I’ll get lucky. Who knows?” He plastered on a smile that felt fake, even to him. “And I am flattered that you asked me. I’d be honored.”

  
“I mean, if you’re sure. I don’t want you to feel like you have to, if you’re like feeling too sick or whatever.” She felt bad asking Steve for favors when he had so many other more important things to worry about.

  
“Well, I can’t promise I’ll feel great, but maybe you could come a little earlier? To give me a little time if I need to stop, or something,” Steve recommended. “We can work out what time and what type of stuff you’ll need to bring. Just nothing overly complicated, okay? I’m not _that_ good.”

  
“Deal.” Max uncertainly placed her hand in his. It was so soft and warm, unlike her stepbrother’s. She chewed on her bottom lip.

  
“There’s something else on your mind.” Steve clutched her hand tightly in encouragement. It was definitely a statement, not a question, but it was said with the intention of getting her to open up. Max didn’t want to burden Steve with the existential crisis she was having over his plight. She was sure he had his own to contend with.

  
It was too bad Mike didn’t have the same sensitivity. “She wanted to know why. I heard you. Earlier,” Mike made his presence known by addressing her directly and revealing what Max thought she had whispered to herself while no one was listening. Steve just regarded them with bewilderment, so the younger boy elaborated. “She asked why this was happening to you.”

  
“Mike,” Max hissed.

  
“What? I think it’s a valid question.” For once, the dark-haired boy wasn’t full of self-righteousness, but genuine confusion. “I wish I knew, too. Don’t you?”

  
Steve pushed himself upright. Instead of answering the question, he countered with his own, “What made you think of that?”

  
There was no getting out of it now. Mike had forced her hand. “Billy. He’s been making plans to go back to California. Now that he’s eighteen and graduated, he’s pretty much been set free to do whatever,” Max gradually gave voice to her feelings. However, the more she spoke the faster and angrier her words came. “He’s going to go start his new life and finally getting exactly what he’s always wanted. Even after all the shitty things he’s done! And you don’t get to do that! You don’t get that privilege because you’re stuck here, fighting _cancer_ , of all things! Besides my stepfather, he’s the shittiest person I’ve ever met, and you’re, like, the total opposite of that. It’s so _not fair_! If anyone deserve to be sick, it’s _him_ , not _you_!”

  
Mike was fervently agreeing as he sat beside Max on the end of the bed. Steve threw his hands up placatingly. “Heyheyhey. First off, no one knows why bad things happen. You’ll only drive yourself crazy asking that question. Not for one second have I ever asked, ‘why me?’. A better question to ask is, ‘why not me?’. What makes me so special that nothing bad should ever happen to me? Secondly, no one, under any circumstances, deserves to be sick like this. Not Billy. Not anyone. Let’s not forget I was kind of a dick not too long ago, so with that line of thinking, maybe I deserve it, too.” Steve was dangerously close to admitting aloud that he had, in fact, wondered if this was some sort of cosmic punishment for his past misdeeds. “I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy so, I don’t want you to, either.”

  
That was an uncharacteristically long and philosophical speech for Steve. Mike was impressed, although he disagreed on one important point. “There is no possible universe in which you could possibly deserve this. There just isn’t.”

  
Steve was touched by Mike’s sentiment. It was likely the closest he would get to expressing any sort of fondness to Steve’s face. “Thank you. I appreciate that. Does what I said make it any better?”

  
“A little, but it doesn’t change how I feel,” Max admitted.

  
“A very smart person once told me you can feel however you want to feel. Nothing you feel is wrong. That’s how feelings work. Now are we good?” Mike and Max both met Steve’s intense gaze and nodded. “Good, because I’m really exhausted.” Steve let his head fall back onto the pillows. It wasn’t long before he dropped off, his body too spent to stay awake. He was still asleep when Nancy came to pick up the kids.

  
Steve still hadn’t woken up when Hopper arrived and crashed on the couch, just as he had done all the nights previous, and would continue to do, with few exceptions, for the duration of this hospital stay. Steve tried time and again to persuade Hopper to go home, and that he would be fine by himself, but the policeman had insisted.

  
They all knew he had his reasons, but Hopper refused to share with anyone but Joyce what they were. There was no point in making Steve, and the rest of the group, more anxious than they already were about the situation when he couldn’t, for certain, predict the future. But, he had been through this particular rodeo before and knew how it was likely to go.

  
Most of the time, Hopper relished in being right and having the upper hand, but this was one instance he so badly wished to be wrong. Deep down, he knew he probably wouldn’t be, though. And he was proven correct, gut-wrenchingly so, only a few short nights later.

  
The retching noise was relentless and eventually yanked Hopper out of a deep sleep. He stumbled toward the bathroom where the sound had originated, fairly certain of what – or who, rather -was behind it. More coughs and splutters followed another round of retching as he pushed the door open.

  
Steve was slouched in front of the toilet, body partially laid over the dirty floor. His legs were splayed carelessly against the tile, while his upper body was perilously propped up by trembling arms that hugged the porcelain. Unable to remain upright, his cheek rested upon one arm that dangled across the lid.

  
The IV pole was tucked back into the corner in such a way that every time Steve shifted forward when new spasms hit his stomach, the line pulled taunt. Hopper adjusted the pole to give Steve more slack. He didn’t exactly know what would happen if the needle got ripped out of the port, but he didn’t care to find out.

  
It wasn’t that Steve wasn’t aware of Hopper’s presence beside him in the bathroom, he was just too ill to acknowledge it. A new round of gagging caused bile to gush from his nose and mouth. Tears ran down his face involuntarily in reaction to the forceful stream that came out. Steve spat repeatedly into the toilet, strings of saliva clinging to his lip. Hopper wet a washcloth and dabbed Steve’s eyes, and then wiped the remnants of stomach contents from his nose and mouth.

  
Things seemed to be calm for a brief moment, so Jim took the opportunity to check the board and was disheartened to see that, even with three different ones to choose from, Steve couldn’t have any more nausea medicine for a couple more hours. He had already received all three sometime between when Hopper fell asleep and now.

  
The police chief reentered the bathroom. “Why don’t we get you up off this floor?” Steve shook his head miserably against his arm, pieces of his sweat-soaked hair sticking to it. “C’mon, I know it’ll suck to move, but you’ll be more comfortable in bed.”

  
Hopper squatted down to assist Steve into an upright position, but he didn’t get a chance to before another bout of vomiting arose. He placed one steadying hand against the Steve’s back and rubbed it sympathetically. Hopper used his other hand to hold the teenager’s damp bangs out of his eyes. A few brown strands rained to the floor. “It’s okay, kid. I got ya.”

  
It finally tapered off to the occasional dry heave. Hopper prepared another washcloth and gently cleaned up the boy’s face. Steve was left breathless and panting, unable to move, his eyes shut tight against the nausea and the sheer anguish of it all. This scene was so much like his precious daughter – too much – and he just wanted to punch the wall, punch the door, punch anything. If he didn’t get out of that bathroom right that second, his head would explode from the overwhelming heartache.

  
Hopper went over to the bed and lowered the siderail. He then positioned a wastebasket near the head of the bed and made sure that there were several disposable plastic bins within reach. No new sounds were coming from the bathroom. It was silent. Too silent. And Hopper feared Steve had passed out, but he was just lying there limply, still unwilling or unable to get his body to respond.

  
There was a cup on the shelf above the sink, and Hopper filled it with water. Steve accepted the cup and swished the liquid around and spit it out a couple times. When he began to gag again, he hurriedly stopped. Hopper waited a couple more minutes to let it pass and then pushed the IV pole further out. He guided Steve back from the lip of the toilet. “Okay, kid. We’re going to get you back in bed, so work with me here.”

  
Hopper hooked his arms under Steve’s armpits and made a move to hoist him up, but the teenager’s body tensed up as it screamed out in disagreement. “Stop. Please, stop,” Steve moaned.

  
“What? Are you going to get sick again,” the chief abruptly released the pressure under his arms.

  
“Hurts,” the debilitated boy choked out.

  
“Okay,” Hopper tried a new approach. He stooped down and flung Steve’s arm around his shoulder as he gripped him tightly around the waist. He was able to get Steve partially to his feet, eliciting a sharp hiss in the process, before he just…crumpled towards the floor. Thanks to his fast reflexes, Hopper was able to get a hand under Steve’s knees before he went all the way down and lifted him in a bridal carry.

  
It was awkward, but Hopper managed to maneuver both Steve and the IV pole over to the bed. He ever so carefully, laid Steve on the bed and pulled the covers over him, intending to stay close and keep a watchful eye. The teenager shifted onto his side, curling in on himself, trying to find a comfortable position as he lay shuddering from the pain and exhaustion.

  
Hopper stayed up with him all night, helping hold his head up over the plastic bin when Steve was too weak to do it by himself. Hopper replaced the bins with fresh ones and cleaned the used ones. He made sure that Steve got every bit of medicine for the nausea he could get the minute he was able to get it. Finally, as the sun was breaking through the clouds, it seemed as if Steve may get some peace. He had fallen into a fitful sleep only twenty minutes ago, and Hopper was fighting it, but he wasn’t far behind.

  
A soft knock at the door startled him. He glanced at Steve, who hadn’t stirred, and very quietly inched the door open. “Oh shit.” The kid with the baseball hat – Dustin - was standing before him. The kid hadn’t seen Steve in at least five days, and Hopper knew there was no way he was keeping him out. But he had to try, for Steve’s sake. “Look, kid-“

  
“Dustin.”

  
“Yeah, I know. Dustin. Steve just fell asleep a few minutes ago. He had a really, really bad night last night and he needs to rest,” Hopper urged as firmly and persuasively as he could. “You should just go home.”

  
“No.”

  
“No,” Hopper echoed.

  
“I can’t. My mom dropped me off on her way to work and can’t come back to get me until after she gets off. Besides, I really want to see Steve. I’ve missed him. I could tell he hasn’t been sounding too great the last couple nights, and I wanted to check on him now that I’m better,” Dustin confessed.

  
As sweet as Dustin’s reasons were, it didn’t change the fact that Steve needed to remain undisturbed. “Look kid, I know you care about him, but the best thing that you can do for him right now is to go home.”

  
Dustin was ready to fire off a retort in protest, but both guys were prevented from carrying on the discussion when they were interrupted by a series of harsh coughs. Steve clutched the bin closer to his chest, spewing into it. His back convulsed with the spasms his body couldn’t keep up with.

  
Like a magnet, Dustin was drawn to Steve when he was in distress. Hopper could no more stop Dustin from intervening than he could stop the forces of gravitational pull. The curly-haired boy crossed the room and placed a supportive hand on his friend’s quivering back, patiently waiting for the heaves to die out. Once they subsided, Dustin plucked some tissues out of the box and wordlessly assisted Steve in cleaning himself up.

  
Dustin removed the dirty bin and replaced it with a fresh one before taking it into the bathroom to rinse out. He brought a cold cloth back with him and folded it over the back of Steve’s neck. The blankets had gathered at the bottom of the bed. Careful of Steve’s arm dangling over the edge, the younger teen let down the siderail and adjusted the covers. Hopper stood by, amazed. It was pretty safe to assume that he had never been in this situation before, but it was as if the younger boy instinctively knew what to do.

  
Steve lay motionless on his side. Dustin reached out to rest a hand on the exposed flank, but Steve flinched away involuntarily. “Did I hurt you? Are you in pain?”

  
Instead of answering directly, Steve lifted his gaze and squinted his bleary eyes at the younger teen. “Dusty,” he rasped out, as if just now fully aware of who sat next to him. “How are you feeling? Are you better?”

  
Dustin didn’t know whether to laugh or cry as Steve struggled to push the words out of his parched throat. It was a very Steve thing to do – worry about someone else when he himself couldn’t even stand up. “Yeah, buddy. I’m fine. Don’t worry about me, though. What about you,” Dustin redirected. He also rephrased his earlier questions. He already _knew_ Steve was hurting from the reaction to his touch. “Where are you hurting? Be honest.”

  
“Head. Ev’where.” Dustin’s heart flaked off in pieces as Steve’s glassy and unfocused eyes seemed to look through him, not really seeing him or much of anything.

  
Dustin turned to Hopper. “Can he still have pain medicine?”

  
Hopper was ashamed to admit he didn’t know. Of all the things he was dealing with last night, that was lower on the list of complaints. “If Steve wants it, I’ll go find out. Anything else?”

  
“Oh, you’re taking it,” Dustin directed at Steve as if he had posed an argument, which he hadn’t. Then he answered Hopper, “Yeah. Could you get an ice pack, some iced water with a straw, and a popsicle?” To that last word, Steve did protest. “Shut up, Steve. Don’t talk. You know your head always get worse and it makes you really sick if you don’t eat or drink at all. We’ve been through this.”

  
“Kid, it’s the chemo that’s making him sick, not anything else,” Hopper corrected.

  
“I know it’s the chemo. But it’s also his head, too which is compounding the problem,” Dustin painstakingly explained to Hopper as if he were talking to a child, and not an adult that had been involved in the circumstances that indirectly caused the latter issue. “Ever since Billy beat the shit out of him, he’s had terrible migraines. Like, vomit-inducing, can’t eat, can’t stand, can’t get out of bed migraines. Pain medicine and cold things help. And believe it or not, eating helps a little. I usually have to force it in him, though.”

  
Hopper rubbed the back of his neck. “Jesus, I had no idea.”

  
“Yeah, well, no one did. Steve didn’t want anyone to know. I found out by accident.” Dustin felt bad for spilling Steve’s secret, but is was for a good reason, and he seemed too out of it to realize it anyway. “Why are you still standing there? Go get the stuff so we can help Steve!”

  
Normally, Hopper would’ve grabbed the mouthy little shit by the neck and throttled him for bossing him around like that, but ultimately, he was right. Even his sleep-deprived brain was able to acknowledge that. He was so laser focused on the nausea and vomiting that he had neglected the other issues that came along with the disease and treatment – including aches and pains. As he recalled, Steve _had_ told him in so many words that he was in pain last night. And apparently, according to Dustin, it wasn’t the only medical issue Steve had to contend with.

  
The nurse had sent Hopper into the kitchenette to get the ice and other supplies while she attended to Steve’s pain needs. He filled a pitcher and the ice pack with ice and picked up the other items on Dustin’s list. His hands were so full, he was carrying the popsicle by the wrapper with his mouth.

  
Steve’s nurse passed him in the hallway. Hopper gave her a cursory nod and attempted to smile, but it came across as more of a grimace with the wrapper clasped between his teeth. She lightly touched his arm, “Your son is such a sweetheart, poor thing. Please let me know if I can do anything else for him.”

  
Hopper puffed out his chest. Even if he had the physical ability at that moment to correct her, he wouldn’t have. Despite being utterly alone and having no positive influences in his life, Steve was an incredible, self-reliant, and dare he say, responsible kid – well, young man. He would be _proud_ to have Steve as his son. He _wished_ the boy was his own. El and his ex-wife would be the first people to say Jim Hopper was no perfect parent, but he was a far cry better than the donors that threw money at Steve and left him to his own devices.

  
Dustin practically ripped the items from his arms. “Took you long enough,” he reprimanded as he stuffed the ice pack into the Ewok pillow and brought it over to the prone figure. “You gotta lift your head up for me, Steve.” The older boy tried, but his head was just so…heavy.

  
“Here, I got it,” Hopper cupped the back of Steve’s head and guided a hand underneath his shoulders and lifted. Dustin slid the pillow underneath the boy’s raised head before Hopper laid him back gently on his side, a position he seemed to favor.

  
Dustin looked stricken, but rounded the bed to pour a glass of water for his friend and retrieve the popsicle. “Why’s he so weak,” he whispered to Hopper, low enough so Steve wouldn’t overhear.

  
“Vomiting, lack of food, and dehydration for starters. And…” Hopper glanced up at the IV, noticing there were more bags and a bigger pump now attached. “And the chemo…How do I say this? It’s…”

  
“A bitch,” Dustin finished.

  
Hopper huffed out a laugh at Dustin’s succinct, yet vulgar way of putting it. It was pretty accurate. “Yeah.”

  
“And in answer to the question you haven’t asked yet – yes, the nurse did give him something for pain. And for nausea. And she also changed out the needle thingy. He’s really dehydrated like you said, so there’s two lines now so Steve can get more fluids at the same time as the other stuff.” Dustin glanced over to the bed. “I think it’s starting to help.”

  
Damn, the kid was an astute observer. “ ‘m here. Don’ talk ‘bout me like ‘m not,” Steve slurred, the medications clearly having some effect.

  
The other two guys in the room exchanged a guilty look, not intending to make Steve feel invisible or insignificant. “Sorry, Steve,” Dustin apologized meekly, sitting back down in the chair next to the bed. He held the cup of ice water out. “Take a sip.”

  
Steve couldn’t quite grasp the cup well enough without his shaking hands sloshing the water over the side, and he couldn’t angle his head to take a proper drink. Dustin regained control of the cup and anchored the straw with his fingers. “That’s why I got you a straw, man. Here,” Dustin placed it between his dry lips. “Suck. You do know how to do that, right?”

  
Steve lazily flipped him off. He managed a few small drinks before lightly pushing the cup away from his mouth, signaling he was finished.

  
Both Hopper and Dustin wished he had drunk more, but they weren’t going to fight him on it in his current state. Instead, Dustin unwrapped the popsicle and offered it to him. Steve took it somewhat reluctantly and hesitantly put it in his mouth, but quickly pulled it out with a look of disdain, as if it had personally insulted him, somehow.

  
“Do you not like orange? They’re not my favorite either. We can get you another one,” Dustin said innocently.

  
“Burns,” Steve stated simply.

  
“What,” Dustin was confused as he scrutinized Steve’s face. “Hey, the inside of your lips is really red. Are you bleeding?”

  
Steve blotted his lips with his fingers, but they came back dry. “What? No.” He chewed on his lips tentatively, but all that really accomplished was removing some peeling skin with his teeth and causing further discomfort.

  
“Stop. You’re going to make it worse,” Hopper said as he bent over Steve. He pulled out the mini flashlight he had attached to his keychain and clicked it on. Steve recoiled back from it as a spike of pain drove through his head as a result of the bright light. “Sorry. Open up, kid.”

  
Steve obeyed as Dustin peered over Hopper’s shoulder. “What is that?”

  
“Those are some pretty nasty looking sores you got going in there, kid. No wonder it burned. There’s a special mouthwash they can give you for that. For now, just take a few more sips of water. It’ll help the burning.”

  
“Jesus, what else,” Dustin muttered under his breath as Steve slumped back into the pillow, letting his heavy eyelids fall shut. The pain medicine was definitely starting to take effect.

  
“Don’t ask, kid.” Sometimes, not knowing all the possible outcomes was better.

  
Dustin shook Steve’s shoulder. “C’mon, a little more water and then you can go to sleep, I promise.” Steve released an honest to goodness whine in response. “I know you’re sick and hurting, but just a few more sips, okay?” He inserted the straw into the older teen’s lips and felt the cool water slide past his fingers, so he knew Steve was actually getting some of the liquid into him. “Good job.”

  
A stray piece of hair had fallen into Steve’s closed eyes, and Dustin reached forward to sweep it back. He continued to run his fingers softly through his friend’s hair as he appeared to visibly relax with each stroke. The younger boy sadly noted that a few strands of Steve’s hair were coming out into his hand with each pass through the teen’s thick, brown locks. Dustin lightened up his touch, but didn’t stop.

  
Hopper watched as Dustin’s head dropped to his lap, clearly wrestling with his emotions over all of it, really. But the hair left behind in his hand triggered a deeper sense of despondency, knowing just how much the idea of it had bothered Steve.

  
The entire group was eternally linked by the events surrounding the Upside Down. Some existing relationships grew stronger – like Joyce with her sons or that of siblings like Will and Jonathan or Nancy and Mike. Friendships intensified and, in some cases, developed between the younger teens, or relationships blossomed like that of he and his new daughter or Nancy and Jonathan or Steve with well, everyone. Hell, there were even psychic ties at play. But perhaps the most perplexing, yet poignant camaraderie came from Steve and Dustin, in particular.

  
There had been glimpses all along of just how deep the connection went with these two, but until this past week or so Hopper had not comprehended to what extent it had formed. There was an underlying current of empathy and concern so hardwired into their respective DNA that they acted and felt almost as one. Dustin’s despair radiated off him with such force it was palpable, in response to his Steve’s current state. But the younger boy was able to put that aside, and somehow knew _exactly_ what to do and what to say to alleviate the older boy’s suffering. And Hopper bet if the situation was reversed, the same would be true. Their bond transcended beyond that of mere friendship. They interacted, teased, defended and cared for one another as fiercely as any blood brothers Hopper had ever seen. It was on another plane entirely.

  
With the night Steve just had, Hopper had initially resolved to stay with him the whole day until Joyce was able to get here this evening to take over. But after witnessing how well Dustin tended to Steve, and how compassionate he was towards him, he felt comfortable leaving him in the younger boy’s capable hands, “So, Mrs. Byers isn’t going to be here until about seven. I was going to stay, but if you’re willing to stick around until then, I might just head out.”

  
Dustin raised his head in shock that Hopper was trusting him to be alone with Steve after everything that had occurred and how ill he’d been. “Yeah. Yeah, I can stay. Could you just call my mom and tell her to pick me up out front when visiting hours are over?”

  
“Yeah, sure. Call me or Mrs. Byers if you need anything. Based on today, I’d say you know how to take pretty good care of him. You did good today, kid. He’s in good hands,” Hopper praised and patted him on the shoulder.

  
“Damn right, I do. He’d do the same for me. And thanks!” The pair waved at each other as Hopper walked out of the room. Dustin turned his attention back to his friend and was relieved to see that the pain and the sickness had finally abated enough for Steve to relax and drift completely off to sleep.


	5. It Just Ain't Living

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve struggles to come to terms with the limitations his disease - and sometimes his family - impose on him while dealing with some disappointing results and an emotionally difficult side effect. Once again, his family - particularly Hopper, Joyce and Dustin - are there to support and love him through it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has commented, gave kudos, bookmarked, etc. It makes me so happy that people are enjoying this story! It has surprised me how much Jonathan is in the story - and how little Nancy is. I don't hate her character, btw. It just makes sense that other characters are more involved with Steve than she is. I've tried to make it as realistic as possible, so Steve is a little bit of a shit in this part, but cut him some slack - he's going through a lot. And the thing that Keith says to Mike about Steve not looking sick? Yeah, someone said that to my face within the first year and it really pissed me off. Didn't realize there was a certain "look" I was required to have. So, I slipped it into the story even though Steve's experience is a little different than mine. Blanket TW for side effects. As always, happy reading and stay well!

Dust danced lazily through the foyer as the two boys entered the house that had sat empty for the past two weeks. Steve had been adamant that when he was finally released from the hospital, he be allowed to return to his house so he could, as he put it, “Sleep in my own goddamn bed for a change.” No one wanted to deny him that comfort, especially with all he’d been through recently, but there were certain conditions Hopper insisted he agree to before he would even entertain the notion of Steve returning to his home – the first of which was someone was to remain with Steve at all times, including overnight.

  
The second condition was that Steve was not to lift a finger. In fact, Hopper’s exact words were: “If I see or hear of any reports that your skinny butt has been doing anything other than napping or couch surfing, I will personally drive you back to the hospital myself.”

  
The police chief had to report to the station that morning so he couldn’t, at the moment, enforce said conditions. Joyce also had to work, so Jonathan volunteered to pick Steve up. He drove him home from the hospital and lugged two weeks’ worth of accumulated belongings, including a bag full of new prescriptions and medical supplies, into the house. “Where do you want me to put all this?”

  
“On my bed, I guess. Here, I’ll show you.” Steve heaved himself onto the staircase with a grunt.

  
“No, no. I can find it on my own.” Jonathan would be lying if he were to say it wasn’t a little bit alarming that the formerly agile basketball star was currently putting all his effort into simply walking.

  
Steve sighed. “It’s okay. I really, really want to take a decent shower, anyway. Wash the hospital smell off. I feel gross,” he continued up the stairs slowly, still very sore from the biopsy yesterday.

  
Steve closed the distance to the second floor one step by painstaking step at a time. Jonathan remained behind him the whole time as he seemed rather unsteady. His shoulder ached from the weight of the duffel bag, but it paled in comparison to what Steve must be feeling after having a needle shoved into his pelvic bone for the second time in a month. Jonathan patiently trailed him without complaint.

  
“You can dump all that stuff there,” Steve gestured vaguely to the bed centered perfectly in the space. “Thanks, man.”

  
“Anytime,” Jonathan tossed everything on the mattress then stood awkwardly in Steve’s room, unsure what he should do next.

  
“You can hang out in here if you want to. I’m just gonna, ya know…” Steve grabbed some clean clothes and took the bag of medical supplies with him into the bathroom.

  
The shower started up and Jonathan looked around the room. It was rather bland – plaid wallpaper with a matching bedspread. A desk with a nondescript lamp. A dresser shoved up against the opposite wall. The only indication it wasn’t a guestroom was Steve’s clothing and a poster of a scantily clad woman. There was no personality to it, as if Steve wasn’t _allowed_ to express himself with any personal touches. Suddenly, the façade the other boy put on at school didn’t seem so puzzling.

  
With nothing else to do, Jonathan removed the photos he had taken a few days ago out of his messenger bag and laid them on the desk. There were some good ones in the stack, including one of Steve in the midst of french-braiding Max’s hair, about a minute before he had to stop mid-braid and rush into the bathroom to vomit. Candids like those were the best, but there were some nice posed photos of Lucas and Max, and one of Lucas, Max, and Steve. Jonathan had even got a shot with the entire Sinclair family, plus Max and Steve. He planned on making more copies for everyone.

  
Jonathan didn’t realize how many photos he had actually taken until just now. A middle-schooler’s cousin’s wedding wasn’t exactly Senior Prom, but he had made a promise to Steve he intended to fulfill.

  
The shower had shut off during his ruminations. It was silent for quite a while until he heard a string of muttered curses floating out of the tiled room. “Hey, man. You alright in there?”

  
“Yeah,” was the strained response he received. “I just can’t reach…I, um…I think I’m bleeding.”

  
Jonathan burst through the bathroom door, his shyness and privacy falling to the wayside in the face of a potential emergency. He was relieved to find Steve, although shirtless, standing upright, fully clothed from the waist down. Steve clumsily held out the waistband of his pants away from the source of the bleeding.

  
“Here, let me take a look,” Jonathan tentatively placed a hand on the other teenager’s back and Steve responded by pulling the elastic down a bit further so he could see properly. The offending area was so far down, it was practically on his backside. “Yeah, it’s oozing quite a bit. Is there a bandaid or some gauze around?”

  
“Yeah. There’s some gauze and tape in the bag with the prescriptions, I think.” Steve kept his head down, unable to look at the other boy.

  
Jonathan retrieved the items. “Can you… Or do you need me to…”

  
Steve’s cheeks grew pink. “I can’t see where…I think I need you to.”

  
“O-okay. Is – is that where they did the, you know, biopsy” Jonathan stammered out, applying the bandage as quickly as possible to lessen the humiliation Steve must be feeling.

  
“Mmhmm,” Steve hummed out. When the wound was covered, he dug into the bag of supplies, purposefully still avoiding Jonathan’s gaze. He plucked out the antibiotic ointment and smeared it over the gashes on his neck and chest where the stitches had been. After slapping a new bandage over the one on his chest, he pulled on a t-shirt and stepped out of the bathroom without another word. Jonathan followed.

  
Steve ambled over to his desk and smiled when he saw the photos, tracing them fondly. “You’re really talented, man. Thanks for these. And for that,” he pointed over his shoulder at the next room.

  
“You’re welcome.” Jonathan’s eyes fell on the clock. “You know, it’s lunchtime. I could make us something?”

  
Steve wasn’t hungry as usual, but he bet Jonathan was. “Sure. Help yourself to anything. I’ll be down in a bit, okay?”

  
Jonathan disappeared down to the kitchen. Once he heard the other boy rummaging around, Steve drug the laundry basket from his closet and gathered up all his dirty clothes. He gripped the railing tightly and balanced it on his good hip as he inched down the stairs.

  
“What the hell are you doing,” Jonathan charged back up the steps after hearing the muted thumps coming from the other room.

  
“Almost all of my clothes are dirty. I’m going to throw these in the washer. That is, unless you’d rather me walk around naked which is not a pretty sight, let me assure you,” Steve joked, trying to ignore the fact that going down the staircase was way worse than going up on his battered body.

  
“Like hell you are. I’ll do them. Give it here,” Jonathan reached to take the basket out of Steve’s hand.

  
“Listen, I really appreciate everyone being here and looking after me. Really. But I’ll be damned if I let you all turn into my maids. I’ve been doing this since I was, like, twelve. So…” Steve advanced a step with the intention of circumventing the other teen.

  
“First of all, that’s depressing. Second of all, I know that Hopper can go overboard sometimes, but on this point, I think he’s right. You were bleeding, like five minutes ago, Steve. You’re not supposed to lift anything heavy. Please let me help,” the blond boy persuaded.

  
“Do you even know how to do laundry,” Steve asked defensively, but allowed the basket to be tugged out of his hand.

  
“Please! You’ve met my mother. She’s great at the whole nurturing part of it, but not so great at the domestic part,” Jonathan slowed his pace, noting the increasing difficulty Steve was having. They finally made it to the landing, and Jonathan let Steve go ahead of him, leading the way to the laundry room. “Now, go sit down somewhere. I’ve got this.”

  
Steve obediently shuffled away. The doctor _had_ put restrictions on heavy lifting. He just forgot, honestly. And the shower had taken more out of him than he wanted to admit. He sat at the kitchen table and rested his head on his crossed arms.

  
At some point the front door opened and closed, and Dustin called out to him, “Yo, Steve!”

  
“In here,” Steve’s reply was muffled by his arm as Jonathan set a bowl of soup and sandwich in front of him.

  
“Hey, man,” Jonathan addressed the younger teen. “Do you want something to eat? I was just making me and Steve some lunch.”

  
“No, thanks. I already ate,” Dustin turned to Steve who was staring at his food as if it were going to grow legs and a mouth and eat _him_. “Hey, buddy. I know it’s tough, but please try to eat something, okay?”

  
Steve _hated_ that he was causing all this worry for his friend. All the kids – Dustin included – had way more important things to think about other than him. Dustin should be out enjoying his summer, not playing nursemaid, coaxing food down his throat because his body was expelling way more than it could take in. Jonathan should be out shopping for his dorm room, not babysitting his girlfriend’s ex-boyfriend. This was all kinds of messed up.

  
The churning in his gut and the stinging sensation in his mouth intensified with each bite. In the end, all he was able to manage was a couple bites of each before having to stop altogether. “Fuuuuuck,” Steve groaned out, dropping his forehead onto the table in frustration.

  
Jonathan put down his sandwich. He couldn’t possibly eat in front of someone that was clearly struggling so much. Jonathan just wished he could do _something_ to ease his torment. “Do you want your meds, Steve?”

  
“Keep eating, Jonathan. I’ll go get them,” Dustin offered without waiting for Steve to answer. “Where are they?” Steve raised a finger above his head without lifting it from the oak surface. “Okay, I’ll be right back.”

  
Dustin tromped up the stairs and reappeared a few minutes later with an armload of orange bottles. “I didn’t know which ones to bring, so I just brought them all. Have you tried the mouthwash yet? If not, I think you should. It might help.”

  
Steve shook his head as he uncapped a bottle and swallowed the bitter pill. He gingerly rose from the table and crossed to the kitchen sink while shaking the contents of a second bottle. He carefully measured out the correct amount. “Dustin’s right. You should finish that,” Steve said to Jonathan before he took a swig of the mouthwash.

  
While Steve’s back was turned, Dustin swept the tuft of hair that had fallen from his friend’s head off the table, but he wasn’t quite fast enough to hide the evidence. Steve unceremoniously spit out the medicine into the stainless steel sink. “What’s in your hand?”

  
“Nothing,” Dustin said guiltily.

  
“Lemme see,” Steve made a move to grab Dustin’s hand. Knowing it was pointless to resist, the younger boy unfurled it without a fight. “Oh.”

  
“Yeah, I was hoping you wouldn’t notice,” Dustin said apologetically. “It must be getting worse. When I went upstairs, the medications were in your bathroom and I like, saw something out of the corner of my eye. It scared me. I thought there was like, a demo-dog or something. Turns out there was a Tribble in your shower.”

  
“A what?”

  
“A Tribble. You know, Star Trek. James T. Kirk.” Steve gave him a confused glare. “Never mind. Once I realized what it was, I cleaned it out so you wouldn’t have to see it.”

  
“That’s nice of you and all, but it’s not like I’m not aware of what’s happening. It’s _my_ hair that’s falling off of _my_ head,” the irritation was beginning to surface. Steve supposed it was sweet that Dustin was trying to shield him from certain aspects of his illness, but it was _his_ illness. _He_ was experiencing it. No one else. Tiptoeing around him like he was a glass figurine was only making things worse. Didn’t they understand that? He wasn’t a child or damsel in distress that needed protection, dammit!

  
“I know,” Dustin felt a bit chastised, but shrugged it off. He knew Steve was cognizant of this particular side effect, but he also knew how much the idea of it had bothered him and he wanted to spare him that, as much as he could. The washer dinged and Steve went towards it. “Steve, what the hell are you doing? Sit down. Eat. Or go lay on the couch or something.”

  
The irritation boiled over into anger. “What am I doing? I’m doing laundry, what does it look like?”

  
“I told you I’d take care of it. Just relax and eat, like Dustin said,” Jonathan interjected.

  
“Sit down. Lay down. Eat. Everyone needs to stop telling me what to do! I’m not a fucking dog, okay,” Steve yelled, his outburst surprising everyone in the room, including himself. He didn’t mean to say all that out loud, the words tumbling out in such brutal fashion, but his aggravation had been bottled up, festering for some time. Ultimately, Steve’s impatience wasn’t with those around him, but with himself and his traitorous body. They just happened to be in the most direct line of fire.

  
“We’re sorry, Steve. We’re just trying to help.” Dustin’s words themselves may have sounded placating, but the tone was anything but. The hurt that flashed in his eyes was unmistakable.

  
Dustin’s expression and remorseful tone was like a punch to the gut. The anger immediately dissipated, and Steve visibly deflated like a balloon. He leaned heavily against the wall. “No, look. I’m sorry. I know you’re just trying to help. I know that. I know you’re all right and I’m wrong and I’m being an asshole, but…I want….I just need…,” Steve chewed on his bottom lip, desperately grasping at the wisps of thoughts that flitted through his mind. His disorganized brain couldn’t formulate a coherent phrase to convey what he actually meant, so he stopped putting forth the effort. “Forget it. I don’t know what I’m trying to say anymore. I’m going to go lay down, I guess.”

  
Steve walked away dejectedly and situated himself on the huge sectional in the living room, leaving a stunned Jonathan and Dustin behind in the kitchen. For the next three days he hardly left it except to shower, go to the bathroom, or sleep in his bed. Steve lacked the motivation to do much of anything, not that he would have been allowed to do much anyway. He didn’t really eat. He barely spoke to anyone. The first real conversation he had was the phone call he received that Friday morning.

  
Dustin dutifully continued to visit every day, unphased by his older friend’s sudden mood swings. He figured Steve was entitled to a little self-indulgence – hell, he even expected it. If he were in Steve’s shoes, he wasn’t sure he would’ve fared any better. Probably worse, if he was being completely honest.

  
Steve obviously needed some space to deal with everything, so when the phone rang, Dustin excused himself to give his friend some privacy. He was several pages deep into an X-Men comic when Steve appeared in the doorway, “So, I was thinking…I’ve been kind of a dick lately.” Dustin opened his mouth to dispute that point, but Steve just held up a hand and gave him a knowing look. “Let me make it up to you guys. Let’s all go to the arcade or something.”

  
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” It’s not that Dustin _didn’t_ want to do that. It felt like a lifetime ago since they had all hung out with each other just for the sake of hanging out – instead of relegating their gatherings to hospital rooms and this house. Dustin _missed_ that, sure, but he didn’t want Steve to push himself beyond his limits for some imaginary transgression his conscience had conjured.

  
“Well, it was nice to get a break from the chemo and…everything the past few days. I feel better. Stronger. And I’ve been cooped up for so long, I’m going a little stir crazy. I thought it’d be nice to go out and do something fun and normal for a change. So whaddaya say. Arcade? Dinner after,” Steve nervously proposed.

  
Part of the argument this past week was Steve’s resentment of being treated like a child – all of them talking _at_ him instead of _with_ him, being told what to do instead of participating in the decision making of what he felt he could handle and what he couldn’t. Dustin certainly understood and sympathized with his feelings, so against his better judgement, he relented. “Okay, but let me get everybody to meet here so you don’t have to go all over town picking them up and dropping them off after.”

  
“Okay,” Steve agreed.

  
“And,” Dustin added, “we have to be back before Hopper. If he finds out about this, both our asses are grass.”

  
“Deal,” Steve chuckled to himself as he went off to take a shower while Dustin summoned the rest of The Party. It was sort of exhilarating to be sneaking around again like his not-so-distant high school days. He let the steam and heat thoroughly relax his muscles, standing under the stream for a few more minutes than necessary.

  
When he finally stepped out, the mirror was completely fogged over. Steve swiped a towel across it, and immediately wished he hadn’t. The reflection staring back was almost foreign to him. He poked at the circular disk on his chest that looked like an alien was about to burst through his skin. He traced the outline of his ribs that were starting to prominently show. The brush that had sometimes got tangled in his thick mane, now glided easily through the strands. Steve let a wistful sigh escape his lips. There were quite a few places he could see his scalp and it was getting to the point where he could no longer camouflage it. He was going to have to come to a decision on how he wanted to deal with it very soon.

  
Excited chatter greeted him as he came downstairs, allowing Steve to momentarily forget about his vanity. All the kids, minus El, were gathered in the living room. It was unfortunate that she couldn’t join them, but being in public was still very dangerous and they were already risking Hopper’s wrath.

  
“You know, we could’ve ridden our bikes there to save you the trouble, but…thanks for taking us, Steve,” Will grinned up at him.

  
Steve ruffled Will’s hair. “Anytime squirt.”

  
They all piled into the BMW, the quarrel over shotgun ever-present, but half-hearted as all the kids were just delighted to be out with their favorite “adult”. Dustin had ultimately relinquished passenger seat privileges to Max in return for first dibs on Dig Dug. The four boys were squished in the back, animatedly discussing how to best use their quarters.

  
As Steve parked the car in front of the arcade, Max took a moment to study him. The corners of his lips were slightly upturned, and his shoulders were not scrunched up like they usually were lately. When Steve swiveled his head towards her, his hazel eyes were sparkling with mirth, the emerald flecks catching in the sunlight. He looked…content.

  
“Alright. Two hours,” Steve held up two fingers. “That’s six o’clock. That should give us enough time to get something to eat and be back at my house before Hopper. And remember…this never happened.”

  
The kids eagerly spilled into the 8-bit wonderworld, breaking off into groups to do their own thing. Steve milled about aimlessly. He was never very big on video games, but he found it interesting to watch and loved how excited each younger teen got over the graphics or some other computer jargon he didn’t understand.

  
After about an hour, the teens gravitated back to their go-to game of Dig Dug, congregating around the video screen. Max had thrown down the gauntlet to Dustin and Dustin was on a quest to reclaim his top spot. Steve leaned wearily against the console that was increasingly taking more of his weight. It was ridiculous how fatigued just standing around made him.

  
Mike shifted his attention between the game and the older boy. Steve slumped further and further against the upright wooden cabinet until even his head was propped against it. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one to notice. “Is he really okay,” Lucas whispered.

  
“I don’t know,” Mike admitted, scanning the gallery for something useful. Nothing jumped out at him until he landed on Keith, sitting behind the counter. Mike marched over to him. “Hey. Can I borrow your stool? And before you ask, no, I’m not getting you a date with my sister.”

  
“Then, no,” Keith said flatly.

  
“Please,” Mike bordered on pleading.

  
“You know the rules, Wheeler. These are stand-up games _only_. What do you need it for, anyway,” Keith asked disinterestedly.

  
“For Steve,” Mike said simply, not elaborating.

  
“Then, definitely no,” Keith’s face reflected his disgust, even if his voice remained monotone.

  
Mike hesitated. Steve’s illness wasn’t exactly a secret, but it was his business whether to share it or not, and with whom. He weighed the options and decided he didn’t have a choice if he was going to achieve his objective. Mike figured it was a small town anyway and word traveled fast, but he did lower his voice, attempting to be discreet. “C’mon, man. Have a heart. He’s sick.”

  
“Who? Harrington? He doesn’t _look_ sick,” Keith sneered while shoving a Cheeto into his mouth.

  
“Well, you don’t look like a heartless asshole, but here we are,” Mike snidely retorted.

  
The gangly assistant manager of the arcade narrowed his beady eyes at his peer. Keith had heard the gossip like everybody else in this small town. He didn’t believe half of it. But upon further review, Harrington _did_ look thinner and paler than before, and the black circles under his eyes matched his sunken posture. Maybe the rumors _were_ true, after all. “Like, how sick?”

  
“Like, really, really sick. But don’t act like you care,” Mike huffed. “Look, can I borrow the stool or not?”

  
Keith swung open the small half door cut into the counter and thrust out the stool. “Fine. But you break it, you buy it.”

  
Mike didn’t bother with a ‘thank you’. Keith was such a prick, but he got what he came for. The dark-haired boy set the stool down and lightly brushed the arm of Steve’s Members Only jacket. “I got Keith to give up his stool. Do you want to sit down, Steve?”

  
Relief coursed through the older boy at the sight of the wooden contraption. “Definitely. Thanks, Wheeler,” Steve said gratefully, positioning himself on the hard, circular seat.

  
“S-sure,” Mike stuttered out, suddenly uncharacteristically shy at Steve’s gratitude. He felt an arm loosely wrap around his shoulder. Mike self-consciously rested his head against Steve’s bicep. The other four kids gave him small nods of approval before becoming distracted by the game again.

  
By the time they had to leave, Dustin still hadn’t risen back to the top of the leaderboard. “Sonofabitch!” He gave the console a kick for emphasis.

  
“Hey, c’mon now,” Steve steered him towards the door. “You’ll get another chance. Calm down.”

  
“Calm down? _Calm down?_ That’s your great advice? I’d like to see you calm down if you just watched your legacy go up in smoke. That game is rigged…” Dustin continued on his tirade as Mike returned the stool to Keith. He barely resisted the urge to flip him off.

  
Thankfully, Dustin had composed himself once they were at the diner and he had some food in him. “You really do get pissy when you’re hungry, don’t you,” Steve observed.

  
“Very funny, dumbass. And what’s your excuse,” Dustin snarked. Steve just tore the end of the wrapper off his straw and blew the larger portion in Dustin’s face. “Oh, very mature! I thought you were supposed to be the adult here.”

  
“That. Was. Awesome,” Lucas cried as Will and Max giggled next to him.

  
“You all are a bunch of assholes!” Dustin’s bark was worse than his bite. He truly didn’t mind the banter with Steve. It was familiar and natural. And he would do just about anything to keep up the older teen’s spirits – especially after the past few days. If it took Dustin being the butt of a few jokes to keep his friend out of the jaws of depression, then so be it. And, in the moment, it had relaxed Steve enough that, when he wasn’t being scrutinized, he dared to take a few bites of his food. It wasn’t a lot, but it was _something._

  
They had all needed this afternoon on some level, but the regret sank in as there was a recognizable police cruiser in the driveway. “Oh, shit,” Dustin and Steve said in unison.

  
Steve didn’t even have a chance to take the keys out of the ignition before Hopper came stomping out of the front door, Nancy and El following behind. The six friends paused before exiting the maroon vehicle, steeling themselves.

  
“You two,” Hopper thrust a finger between Steve and Dustin, “inside now! The rest of you, I’ll deal with later. Nancy’s going to take you and your bikes home. Capisce?”

  
Dustin knew better than to argue with the Chief when he was like this, so he gave a quick wave to the other four kids and slipped between Nancy and El, into the house. Steve opened his mouth like he was going to say something, then thought better of it. He started to go around Nancy, but she held him back by the elbow. “What were you doing, Steve? That was really not smart.”

  
Steve rolled his eyes. Jesus, not her, too. “Yeah, well…you always called me an idiot, Nancy. Guess I’m just proving you right.” Steve yanked his jacket out of her hand and brushed by her. Dealing with Hopper was one thing, but being reprimanded by his ex-girlfriend was not something he was prepared to tolerate.

  
“Sit,” Hopper commanded.

  
Before El went upstairs to the guestroom, she addressed her surrogate father, “Be nice.”

  
He waited for her to get all the way up the stairs and for the pair to get situated before going on his rampage. “Do either of you have any clue how worried sick I was? Huh? For all I knew, Steve had collapsed and was being rushed to the emergency room, not gallivanting around Hawkins playing town babysitter, which you shouldn’t be doing anyway in your condition.” Steve pulled a face at that. “Where the hell were you, anyway?”

  
“We went to the arcade and to get something to eat. That’s all,” Dustin said, suddenly feeling guilty at the turmoil they caused by not even leaving a note. He realized that he should’ve at least checked in with Hopper and verified everything was okay, but Dustin was so focused on Steve’s needs that he neglected other, just as pertinent, details.

  
“The arcade,” the policeman exclaimed incredulously. “The goddamn arcade? Where it’s full of kids – with germs? Do you have any idea what an infection could do to Steve right now? How could you be so selfish? What the hell were you thinking letting him do this,” he directed at Dustin.

  
“I – I didn’t think-,“ Dustin began meekly, his voice cracking just a tiny bit.

  
“That’s right you didn’t think,” Hopper seethed.

  
Steve was on the verge of exploding. “Lay off! It wasn’t his idea, it was _mine_. Dustin had nothing to do with it. I talked him into it,” he rushed into Dustin’s defense, his conscience heavy. From his friend’s crestfallen demeanor, Steve could tell Dustin was blaming himself. “I wanted to get out. I actually felt _good_ for a change.”

  
Hopper laughed, but it was hollow, without any humor behind it. “Oh, my mistake. As long as you felt _good_ , it’s okay, right? Nothing bad could happen?”

  
Steve fisted his hands in his lap to reign in his ire. “Yes, damn right it’s okay! I’m an adult and I can leave my fucking house if I want to!”

  
“I know you’re an adult - legally, but you’re a _very sick_ adult. You seem to have a talent for putting yourself at risk. And I just can’t let you do that! You can’t go messing around with this. This is your _life_ that’s at stake,” Hopper shouted.

  
“You think I don’t know that,” Steve screamed. “Do you really think I’m that dumb that I don’t realize that even after everything that’s to come, I still might _die_?”

  
Hopper raised his hands in a peaceful gesture. “No, kid, I don’t think you’re dumb at all. You know I don’t. But sometimes…sometimes you seem oblivious to your own well-being. It’s like you have no sense of self-preservation. All you kids are important, but particularly you right now. I’ve been through this before… Don’t you get that I’m trying to _protect you and keep you safe_ – like you were my own son?”

  
“But I’m not! I’m not! You aren’t my keeper, and I’m not your problem! And I’m not a replacement either! Helping me won’t bring your daughter back,” Steve lashed out.

  
“Steve,” Dustin gasped. “I get that you’re upset, but that was uncalled for, man.”

  
Steve collapsed onto the couch suddenly like his invisible strings had been cut and tugged at his progressively sparse hair. Frustrated and shameful tears leaked out. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have… I don’t know why I’m being so _shitty_.”

  
Instead of reacting to the insulting comments as he normally would have, Hopper took a different approach and laid a gentle hand on the boy’s increasingly bony shoulder. “Could you just clue me in on what was going on in that head of yours today?”

  
Steve sniffled and nodded. It was the very least he could do. “I was thinking…I was thinking that if I was going to be back in the hospital for a couple more weeks, I just wanted the chance to get out and have some fun with the kids again before that happens. As much as I try to talk them out of it, they still spend a lot of time at the hospital if I’m there. They don’t deserve to be trapped inside all summer just because I am.”

  
A light bulb went off underneath the police hat. Dustin hadn’t caught up quite yet. “Wait, what?”

  
“Yeah, um…that phone call. This morning. It really wasn’t good news,” Steve vacantly stared into space.

  
“Your results,” Hopper questioned.

  
Steve swallowed hard. “My, um…my blast…”

  
“Percentage,” Hopper supplied.

  
“Yeah, that. It didn’t go down as much as it should, so they want to do another intense cycle of chemo which means I go back into the hospital Monday. Then they’ll reevaluate again at the end of it to see if I can finally move to the weekly sessions,” Steve swiped a forearm across his nose to clear some of the mucus away. Dustin handed him a tissue which he used gratefully.

  
“Oh, kid.” Hopper sat down next to Steve and draped an arm across his shoulders. The action just reignited the waterworks.

  
Steve clung to the police chief maybe more than he had a right to given the cutting jabs he just hurled at the man. He continued to express his contrition, the fact that he could never take back the words he said haunting him. “I’m so, so sorry. What I said was _awful_. You don’t deserve any of that. You’ve been so damn _nice_ … so _good_ to me and I just… I’ve been so shitty – to everyone - lately. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  
“It’s tough, what you’re going through. Maybe even the toughest thing a human can go through. That, and losing someone. Hard doesn’t even begin to describe it. They both have something in common, though.” Hopper squeezed a little tighter as Steve turned his red-streaked face to him in question. “Ever hear of the five stages of grief?”

  
“I think in my case it’s more like the five stages of asshole.” Hopper laughed deeply at that. “Don’t beat yourself up too hard, kid. Your white blood cells are doing that enough for you.”

  
Steve just gawked blankly at him, but Dustin seemed to readily pick up the thread of his theory. “Steve, he’s right. After my dad died, I had to go to this therapist who gave me all this stuff on grief and loss. This one doctor that worked with the terminally ill, in her research, noticed a recurring pattern of emotions in those patients: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance - they didn’t have to necessarily go in that order or have a finite timeline. Makes sense.”

  
“But I didn’t lose anyone, and I’m not terminally ill, right,” Steve was baffled as to how any of this related to him.

  
“That’s the hell of it. No, you’re not _terminally_ ill, per se, but you are being treated for a life-threatening illness. This is literally the fight of your life. And yeah, you can beat this, Steve. You can. I _know_ you can, but there’s always going to be that uncertainty in the back of your head. What if the treatment doesn’t work? What next? What if I go into remission, but don’t stay in remission?” Hopper tapped the side of Steve’s head with his finger. “I know those thoughts are swirling around up there in that brain of yours. It’s a heavy load for anyone to carry, let alone someone so young. Facing death – your own or otherwise – sucks. Same principals apply.” Steve seemed to mull this over. “Have you considered a therapist, or a support group of some kind?”

  
Steve’s eyes widened in panic. “Oh no. If my parents ever got wind I went to a head-shrinker, I’d be cut off so fast. They’d see it as a sign of weakness.”

  
God, the Harringtons were real pieces of work. “Well, if you’re interested, we can look into it. The hospital might have some support groups that are free of charge or wouldn’t get billed to insurance. I know it sounds like bullshit, but they helped me when I finally got my head out of my ass and went. Just think about it, okay,” Hopper suggested.

  
“Yeah, okay.”

  
Hopper rose from the sofa. “I’m going to go check on El, take a hot shower, and go to bed.”

  
“Chief, thank you. Really. I owe you a big apology for everything,” Steve hung his head low in shame.

  
Hopper clapped him on the back to show him there were no hard feelings. “Stop. What did I tell you before about saying sorry? I said some things. You said some things. It’s all good. Water under the bridge.”

  
Steve gave a wan smile, “But still…I was wrong. If this place is bugged, I’ll be in such deep shit with my parents for saying this, but: your daughters are very lucky to have you. And so am I. For what it’s worth… I wish you _were_ my dad.”

  
“So do I. G’night, kid.”

  
Things weren’t exactly awkward between them, but Steve still felt incredibly bad about all that he had said. Those feelings were only amplified during the hospital stay as Hopper once again maintained his nightly bedside vigil, sacrificing his sleep and comfort for Steve’s own, providing any assistance that he required. In his current state, there was very little he could do to repay the older man, but he hoped one day he would get the chance to do something– for all of them, really – to show his appreciation.

  
Dustin would say something to him like, “That’s how friendship works, Steve. When a Party Member needs assistance, you give it, without expecting anything in return. No questions asked.” The problem was Steve was taking a whole lot more than he was giving lately, and he was powerless to change it. All his life, he was used to being surrounded by people who were only there for what he could give them or do for them: his money, his influential parents, his car, his clothes, his athleticism, his good looks. Anything less seemed inadequate, somehow. Slowly, but surely all of what used to draw people to him was being stripped away. But still this specific group of people stayed no matter how unworthy he thought he was, and he couldn’t quite figure out why. Steve couldn’t possibly fathom what he had left to offer them.

  
The Dustin in his head told him he was being ridiculous. That he had plenty to offer them. But being cared for without expectations was still a relatively new experience for Steve and navigating it without a few bumps was grossly unrealistic. His own parents couldn’t even give him that basic consideration. And Nancy, too, had stayed with him for the sake of her own security instead of true love. He had given her everything – including his heart.

  
Sometimes, it was even physically painful to accept a hug from the kids or a motherly gesture from Joyce because it sent a pang through his chest of what he’d never had before and what he had missed out on. Maybe that was why he gave Hopper so much resistance sometimes. But with their patience and constant affection, he was learning the true definition of friendship and family. So, when Joyce tenderly pressed the back of her hand to his cheek checking for fever, he leaned into her touch.

  
The side effects were even more prevalent from the very beginning this time around – something about them being cumulative. Steve didn’t fully understand it, but what it amounted to was he was a lot sicker and weaker than he had been before – so much so that he begged for the kids to stay home, not wanting them to see him like this if he could help it.

  
The kids wouldn’t be deterred altogether, but they did at least limit their visits out of respect for Steve’s wishes. It _was_ upsetting for them to see him in that state, despite their protests to the contrary. And it was equally distressing for him that the mask he had so skillfully dawned for their sake the last time around, was slipping, unable to be sustained in his debilitated condition. The one person, unsurprisingly, that was hardest to convince was Dustin. Just like Steve didn’t want to be shielded from his own illness, neither did Dustin. He was determined to be there for every ugly, heart-wrenching second. After more than a week into this hospital stint, Steve eventually gave up trying to keep him away, not really having the energy to deny him anyway.

  
At least every time Dustin spared a glance at him, he didn’t have pity laced through his gaze – or he did an admirable job of hiding it. It was one of the reasons, once Steve came to the decision of the inevitable two nights ago, he had chosen to take Dustin into his confidence before anyone else. He picked up the walkie talkie and called out to his friend. Hopper had to help him with the dials and the buttons that his weak, fumbling fingers couldn’t quite manage to work. All Steve had to say was, “I’m ready”, and Dustin understood exactly what that meant.

  
Dustin needed a day to get everything together, but now he worked his way up to the third floor, denim backpack swinging rhythmically with the weight of the supplies he carried. Steve had instructed him to grab some money from his stash in the house, but when Dustin asked his mom to take him shopping and he told her why, she said yes at once, but with the stipulation that she be allowed to buy whatever Steve needed.

  
Claudia Henderson was always a contender for mother-of-the-year for her big heart alone, but she outdid herself yesterday, spending the whole day patiently running Dustin from store to store until he was satisfied that his purchases would meet Steve’s approval. It was traumatic enough and Steve had trusted him to deliver. It was imperative to Dustin that his friend’s faith in him not be in vain.

  
His mother had spent the evening doing the wash and packing the items into the bag now sat on his back. Dustin had thanked her profusely – on his behalf and Steve’s - as she dropped him off at the main entrance of the hospital with a promise to pick him up later. He finally arrived at the room and knocked softly.

  
After a few seconds, Mrs. Byers cracked open the door. She waved him in silently before closing it behind him. “Steve’s not doing so hot today. Been sick a lot. We’re trying the tapes, but I don’t think it’s working. Nothing really is.”

  
As if on cue, Steve flung the headphones off his ears and turned to the side and gagged into the plastic bowl without raising his head off the pillow. There was nothing to come up anymore. After another violent dry heave that left Steve gasping for air, Joyce ever so gently sat on the edge of the bed and ran her fingers through the thin, meager dark strands. Her fingernails scraped more scalp than hair at that point, but it didn’t prevent more from floating down onto the pillow.

  
Dustin slid the backpack off his shoulders and set it at his feet. “Jesus, Steve. Are you sure it’s okay that I’m here? I could come back another day,” Dustin left the specific reason for his visit today unspoken, knowing Steve wouldn’t want an audience for that.

  
“Yeah. Just gimme…gimme some time, okay?” Steve thrust a hand through the side-rails, unconsciously reaching out for his friend.

  
Dustin sank into the chair as he gripped Steve’s hand. It felt so cold, and the skin was so papery and dry. Their hands stayed clasped as Steve drifted off into a light doze. For the moment at least, the nausea had subsided.

  
Mrs. Byers half-heartedly attempted to get Steve to eat something off of the lunch tray when it arrived, but to no avail. She had taken a peek at it, and it was admittedly pretty unappetizing. She couldn’t blame him for refusing it, especially with his queasy stomach. “Steve, is there anything you think you can get down? I understand the food here isn’t that great, but maybe some takeout or something?”

  
Too bad Steve didn’t have a burning desire for food of any kind because this was the window of opportunity he had been hoping for. He had yet to come up with a plausible excuse to get her out of the room other than sending her down for a cigarette break. But that wouldn’t give them nearly enough time, and Steve really didn’t want anyone else present besides Dustin. It was bad enough that he couldn’t do it himself.

  
“How about a milkshake? It seemed to go well the last time you had one at the diner,” Dustin suggested, comprehending, as Steve did, that this was their chance.

  
“Yeah, okay. I guess it’s worth a shot.” Steve’s voice was incredibly raspy from the strain it had been under. Maybe a milkshake would actually feel good on his sore throat.

  
Joyce smiled, relieved that she might be able to do something for once to boost Steve’s poor appetite and increase his caloric intake which he so desperately needed. “What flavor, honey?”

  
“Vanilla, please.”

  
“Vanilla? Again? Vanilla’s so bland,” Dustin disapproved.

  
“Yeah, exactly. Bland is about all I can handle right now,” Steve informed him.

  
Joyce grabbed her purse, “Okay, one vanilla and one…”

  
“Chocolate, please,” Dustin said politely.

  
As soon as she vacated the room, Dustin wasted no time swinging into action. “Where do you want to do this?”

  
“You’re probably going to need to do it in here. I doubt I can get very far today,” Steve reluctantly admitted.

  
Dustin brought the shower chair out from the bathroom and set it as close to the bed as he could, still giving himself enough room to move around it. He spread a few towels down under the chair to catch the stray hairs. “Alright, hop on.”

  
Steve peeled the blankets back and got himself into a sitting position with some difficulty. He dangled his legs over the side of the bed and tested his weight on his feet. “Dude, I hate to say this, but you’re probably going to have to help me out here.”

  
A shadow of sadness flitted over Dustin’s features. It was a testament to just how sick Steve was feeling that he readily admitted that he needed assistance with something as simple as standing. Dustin enveloped Steve in a bear-hug and gave him a boost while Steve pushed up on the bed railing with his arms. Together, they got the older boy upright. Dustin kept a steadying hand on Steve and guided him over to the white plastic seat. He then pulled out all the items from the backpack, laying out the purchases on the bed next to Steve for him to look through. Dustin dug for the tool at the bottom of the bag, and searched for an outlet to plug it in.

  
Once it was all set up, Dustin draped a towel around Steve’s shoulders. He circled his friend to stand in front of him. “Are you sure about this?”

  
“Yes. Yes, I’m sure,” Steve whispered woefully.

  
“But are you sure you want me to do it? I’ve never used these before. What if I mess it up? I could get someone else. It’s not too late,” Dustin gave him one last chance to change his mind.

  
“I’m sure. Besides, you can’t mess it up any worse than it already is.” Dustin lifted his eyebrows as if to disagree. Steve held his trembling hands out in display. “Look, it can’t be me, alright? I’m shaking so much I’d probably cut myself to the point I’d bleed to death before it was even over. Hopper has been telling me to cut my hair for years so he would get way too much joy out of this, even if he’s just joking. And Nancy and Mrs. Byers would just cry all the way through. I so don’t need that. The rest of the kids…I don’t think…Jonathan maybe, but it’s just too weird for your ex’s boyfriend to be doing something like this. You’re it. You’re the only one that can get the job done and not bust out in tears or feed me some line of bullshit about how it looks good which would just make me feel like some sort of freak to be pitied or something. It _has to_ be you. I trust you.”

  
“Wow, okay. It’s your call. Are you ready,” Dustin asked one last time, subconsciously stalling.

  
“Dustin, please just do it already before I lose my nerve.”

  
Dustin flipped the clippers on and brought them down on Steve’s head. Steve’s eyes misted over uncontrollably as he watched each remaining brown strand drift down to the floor. Dustin was being as gentle as possible – and was shockingly good at this – but each swipe of the clippers felt like a piece of his soul was being ripped out. It was so stupid. It was just fucking _hair._

  
Deep down he knew that it didn’t fundamentally change who he was, but he had been so _proud_ of his perfectly coiffed hair. Steve _flaunted_ his most recognizable feature. Now he was losing it. Another piece of him in an ongoing parade of shattered parts, that cancer had taken from him. It was a glaring outward reminder of his disease and there would be no hiding behind bright smiles and hairspray, pretending that he was alright on the outside while on the inside his body was fighting a war with itself and he was falling apart bit by bit. God, Hopper was right. The grief threatened to swallow him whole, bubbling up from his gut, choking his throat, and spilling out his eyes.

  
Just when he thought he couldn’t stand another moment, Dustin clicked off the clippers, marking the finality of it. “Do you want a mirror or something? To see?”

  
Steve numbly shook his head. He swallowed hard, blinking back moisture. “No, not really. Is it – is it bad?”

  
Dustin stood in front of him, taking in the fine layer of fuzz that was heavily interspersed with bald spots where the hair had completely fallen out. He gave Steve the courtesy of not spouting empty platitudes at him. “Not bad. Just different.”

  
Steve sniffed and fingered the various hats and bandanas on the bed. “Thank you for doing all of this. You did a good job. And thank your mom for me, too, alright?”

  
“No thanks necessary. What are friends for? I just wish you weren’t going through this, but I’d do anything to make you feel better. You know that, right?” Dustin’s voice was the softest it had ever been.

  
“I know,” Steve’s voice quivered with barely restrained emotion. He reached up to run a hand through his hair out of habit, but halted mid-air when he came up empty. He let his fingers brush lightly against the skin. Steve’s breath hitched in his chest and when it released, it came out watery and shaky. He stared hard at the floor, determined to compose himself and not fall apart over something so seemingly silly and insignificant. “This is so stupid. It’s just hair. It’ll grow back, right?” Steve raised his head and Dustin could see the storm swirling in his eyes.

  
Dustin squatted down to meet his level. “Sure, it’ll grow back, but please don’t do that. Don’t hold it in. Remember when were at the diner that first day and you told me this would happen? And how much the thought of it bothered you?” Steve nodded and Dustin continued. “And what’d I tell you? That it’s not stupid to be upset about it, but that you had a lot more qualities to love about you than just your hair. I promise you, it won’t make a difference in how you’re treated to anyone who matters. And the rest of ‘em – screw ‘em! If all someone cares about is how you look, then they’re not worth your time anyway. Go ahead, take the time to be upset about it and get it out, but then own it. You’re battling and it’s a battle scar that just shows what a fucking warrior you are.”

  
That speech made Steve’s heart swell and overflow with emotions. The tears were dangerously close to falling. He emitted a sound from his throat that was an amalgamation of a whimper and a laugh. “Jesus Christ, Dustin. How’d you get to be so smart?”

  
“It takes lots of hard work to be this wonderful,” Dustin smiled radiantly at him as he picked up one of the hats from the bed. “Which one do you want to try first?”

  
Steve was still trying to suppress his sorrow by letting Dustin distract him with the spoils of his shopping trip. He had almost managed to completely dam the flow of water from his eyes. Then the door opened, and Joyce walked in, one hand holding a tray of milkshakes and the other stuffing keys into her purse.

  
It took her a moment to look up and when she did, she gasped quietly. She knew the two boys were up to something and wanted her out of the room for some reason, but she never would have guessed this. Joyce wouldn’t have hesitated in helping Steve out if he had asked her to, but she knew he was weirdly private about some things and she could certainly understand why he had chosen to keep something so personal from everyone. Joyce couldn’t imagine how difficult this was for him.

  
Joyce’s heart broke for Steve all over again when he apprehensively met her gaze, eyes shimmering in the anemic fluorescent lighting. His whole body seemed to be shaking and the more he stared at her, the harder his bottom lip wobbled. “Oh, sweetheart.” Joyce rushed over to set the milkshakes on the bedside table and wrapped her arms around the boy’s neck. “It’s going to be okay, alright? It’s okay. It’s okay.”

  
Steve’s vision blurred dangerously as he fought to not break down completely. He had done that way too often lately. But what Joyce did next sent him right over the emotional cliff he was teetering on. She placed a hand on each of his cheeks and lovingly kissed the top of his bald head twice like a mother would – like a mother _should_. “Such a beautiful, beautiful boy. You’re so, so brave. So strong. Just let it out.”

  
So, he did.


	6. I'm Awful Just To See

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve goes through extreme highs and lows, receiving a bit of good news, but also experiencing a crisis. In the middle of it all, he is faced with some things he thought he left in the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you once again for all the wonderful comments, kudos, etc. I appreciate it more than you know! It warms my heart and keeps me motivated! Updates may be a bit slower in the future (instead of roughly once a week, more like every two weeks) as I come out of quarantine and return to RL. I have tried to make this as medically accurate as possible, but since this is set in the 1980's it is difficult to find any concrete evidence on exact treatments then. Things change very quickly in medicine, so if there are any discrepancies, I humbly apologize. I've tried to combine my knowledge now with my research, but may fall short at times. TW again for side effects. Also, not that anyone has implied otherwise...I just want to make it clear beyond doubt that Steve is 100% NOT anorexic here. His issues with food are all cancer and treatment related. So possible TW related to that, specifically. ETA: Found a typo and clarified the end a bit because I think my original wording was too ambiguous. As always, happy reading and stay well!

The deepening violet sky contrasted brilliantly against the bright, flashing neon lights of the Fourth of July fair. Bells and whistles cut through the humid air as the townsfolk meandered about the celebration. This was absolutely the last place Hopper thought they should be the day after Steve had gotten out of the hospital for the second time, but the kids and Steve had conspired together and cajoled and pleaded until Hopper had at least agreed to discuss it with the doctors.

  
The doctors had deliberated and had permitted Steve to attend – much to the police chief’s disbelief – as long as he complied with certain stipulations. He had to wear a mask at all times, and wasn’t to walk more than a few steps which ultimately meant he would need to be escorted around in a wheelchair.

  
Steve was mildly annoyed, but accepting of the first precaution, but the second one he positively balked at. “I am not an invalid! I am capable of walking.” His voice was muffled by the surgical mask that was secured behind his head, anchoring the thin, red cotton beanie in place.

  
Hopper raised his eyes to the darkening sky and groaned in exasperation. “That was the deal, kid. You just got out of the hospital, and you can deny it all you want, but you’re weak. Plus, your blood counts are still low and since you had yet another biopsy yesterday, they want to minimize the risk of you bleeding afterwards – again.” Steve shot Jonathan a withering glance, knowing it had to be him that opened his mouth. Guilt flashed over Jonathan’s features, cementing his instinct. “So, get. in. the. damn. chair. Or we go home. Your choice.”

  
The teenager grumbled, but plopped himself down in the seat, kicking down the footrests with displeasure. “Fine.”

  
Nancy held Jonathan back by the arm while the others went on ahead. “Is this really a good idea? For Steve to be out like this?”

  
“Well, it was cleared with the doctors,” Jonathan shrugged. “And they’re being extra careful making him wear that mask with how big the crowd is and everything. I don’t think that’s normally a thing with regular chemo.”

  
‘Regular’ chemo? As if there were anything ‘regular’ about any of it. Nancy began to object, “Yeah, but…”

  
“Besides, I think it’s good for him to get out. You didn’t really spend a lot of time with him before he went back into the hospital for this last stay. He got really angry and depressed. I think Steve needs this, Nancy,” Jonathan informed her.

  
Nancy realized that her boyfriend was right on one account – she _hadn’t_ really visited Steve during his week at home. She had only seen him in passing as Hopper ushered him into the house that one night. They had barely exchanged any words. She vowed to do better as she hurried to catch up with the others.

  
The twinkling lights and cacophony of sounds assaulted all their senses, but El in particular stood mesmerized by the whole carnival. She almost didn’t get to come along, but wore her adopted father down enough that he finally arranged to contact Dr. Owens. It had been months since she had been out in public to this degree, and after much debate, she was allowed this one evening under the cover of night. It was the general consensus that there were going to be way too many distractions for the crowd to be scrutinizing any one individual attendee of the festivities. And she was not to leave Hopper’s side for one moment.

  
Hopper didn’t have to like it, though. El’s mouth fell open in wonder, “Pretty.”

  
“Yeah, it is, isn’t it?” Steve guided her onto his lap.

  
“Oh, nonononono. I am _not_ chauffeuring _two_ of you kids around. This chair is hard enough to push through this grass with one of you. C’mon, El. Get up.” Steve scowled at Hopper, but it came off as more comical than threatening under the mask. El copied him, but arose from her seated position.

  
“Geez, Hop. Relax. You’re so…cranky,” Joyce chastised. It’s not that she didn’t feel concerned on both kids’ behalf, but she had seen how broken-down Steve was only days ago. Sometimes, happiness was just as powerful and potent a drug as any manufactured medication.

  
A young couple stepped into the group’s path, effectively blocking the way through the thoroughfare. “Holy shit! Harrington? Is that you?”

  
“Tommy. Carol,” Steve said shortly.

  
“I guess the rumors were true. Christ, Stevie. You really do look like shit,” the freckled-faced former friend jeered. Carol hung off his arm, rudely smacking her gum.

  
“Yeah, well, I wish I could say it was a pleasure, but…,” Steve deadpanned. “Do you mind?”

  
“Go right ahead. Wouldn’t want to stop the parade of freaks at the fair. It must really suck to go from being King to the dying pity project of this losers club.”

  
“We’re his friends, you fucking asshole,” Max shouted. She hadn’t been this angry since she had threatened Billy with the nailbat.

  
“And he’s not dying shit-for-brains,” Mike ground out venomously.

  
“Sure looks like it. God, you look _awful_ ,” Tommy said cruelly.

  
Jonathan almost had to restrain his mother and his girlfriend simultaneously, but Hopper beat them all to the punch. “Hey asshole, I’m going to give you about two seconds to shut your big fat mouth and move the hell out of the way, or I will have a field day playing my own personal version of Whack-A-Mole on your face.”

  
Even without the blatant threats, the police chief was an intimidating figure. Tommy backed off easily now that someone bigger than him was challenging him, showing his true cowardly colors. The group pressed on, but the mood was dampened considerably. Steve was now hyperaware of how many glances were tossed in his direction, and he became increasingly uncomfortable under their curious and pitying stares.

  
Dustin could read by Steve’s drooping body language how much he’d been affected by the disparaging comments, no matter what piece of garbage had spouted them. He rested a supportive hand on Steve’s shoulder as they moved along. “Remember what I said before – they don’t matter and people like that aren’t worth your time.” Steve didn’t turn to look at Dustin, but his back tightened and he sat up a little straighter, so Dustin knew he had heard him.

  
Deep down Steve _did_ know what Dustin said was true. He had already had the epiphany long ago that Tommy H. and Carol were both grade-A assholes with no redeeming qualities, and he shouldn’t take anything they said seriously. But he was already extremely self-conscious about his newly altered appearance and that just reinforced his lack of confidence. He tried to shrug it off and allow the kids’ excitement over the various attractions to become contagious.

  
Their joyous shrieks echoed back as they were whipped around and tossed about by the assortment of rides. Although Steve enjoyed being a spectator to the kids’ thrill-seeking, he wished he could participate, but was advised against it. Besides, the rickety rides would jolt his sore body around too much. There were very few rides he could tolerate right now without causing himself too much pain.

  
In between the rides and games, the kids stuffed themselves with junk food: corndogs, popcorn, funnel cakes, slushies, and cotton candy – Steve’s favorite. When Dustin brought over a billowing tower of sugary blue fluff and offered it to Steve, he actually indulged in a few bites, his mask momentarily hanging loosely around his neck.

  
As the time for the fireworks fast approached, they crept nearer the Ferris wheel, and Steve’s face unwittingly lit up. This…this was something he could handle. Will spotted the gleam in the older boy’s eyes. “Mom, can we go on the Ferris wheel? Please?”

  
Joyce smiled sweetly at her son. “Sure, honey.”

  
“But it’s almost time for the fireworks,” Lucas pointed out.

  
“Exactly! We’ll be able to see them great up there! How ‘bout it guys,” Will looked between all his friends. Mike, and therefore El, usually went along with along with anything Will wanted to do, and Dustin and Max didn’t seem too bothered by the suggestion, either. “Great! C’mon! Come with us, Steve,” the smaller boy pulled lightly on his hand.

  
“Oh no,” Hopper prevented Steve from getting up with a firm grip. “Rides were not part of the deal.”

  
“C’mon, Hop,” Joyce spoke out of the side of her mouth. “It should be okay. The ride’s pretty mild. I mean, if Steve wants to, what’s the harm?”

  
The police chief threw his hands up in defeat. “Fine. If you want to listen to a bunch of kids and ignore the advice of medical professionals and a guy with a badge, then go right ahead.”

  
“Sorry, Chief,” Steve meant no disrespect, but he really wanted to do this. He rose jerkily from the wheelchair, stumbling a bit. Hopper held his bicep to steady him and gave him a doubtful look. “It’s okay. Just a little stiff from sitting too long, that’s all,” Steve assured him.

  
There was some dissension amongst the friends on who would get to ride with Steve. They tried to make him choose, but he wisely refused. Eventually, it was decided that since it was Will’s idea and El had never ridden a Ferris wheel before, that the two of them would get the honor. Mike was mildly put-off to not share the experience with his girlfriend, and Dustin was rather disappointed to be separated from Steve.

  
The trio were secured in their seat. Hopper and Joyce remained on the ground as neither were that fond of heights. They watched as each remaining group of kids mounted the ride. Joyce left for a moment to strike up a brief conversation with the ride operator. When she returned, silly grin spread across her face, Hopper regarded her suspiciously. “What are you up to?”

  
“Oh, nothing really. Just asked Jimmy for a tiny little favor,” she pointed upwards as the fireworks began blossoming above their heads. After only a few revolutions the Ferris wheel came to a halt, the car holding Steve, Will, and El at the top.

  
El stared up in awe at the colorful pyrotechnics, producing a small noise of excitement in her throat with each explosion. “Beautiful.”

  
“Yeah, it really is, isn’t it,” Steve said wistfully, unknowingly echoing their previous conversation from when the group had first arrived. He smiled down at her, but there was a sadness in his eyes and a hint of melancholy in his voice which hadn’t been there earlier, that both Will and El picked up on.

  
El tore her gaze away from the sky for a moment to observe Steve in her quiet way. She softly placed her hand on his cheek and turned his head gently until he faced her. She tapped lightly on his sharp jawline. “Beautiful,” she stated firmly before dropping her hand and turning her attention back to the light show.

  
Steve inhaled sharply, unprepared for the touching sentiment from the young girl who had experienced nothing but ugliness for the majority of her life, yet unbelievably counted _him_ as one of the pretty things. He blinked rapidly, the blazing flashing lights of the finale reflected in the collected moisture.

  
As the fireworks shimmered and fizzled out, the acrid smell of gunpowder wafting through the air, Will gathered the courage to speak. He didn’t often talk about the incidents surrounding the last couple years, but now it seemed crucial that he did so. “I think I know how you felt tonight. You know people still call me ‘Zombie Boy’? I wish it didn’t bother me, but honestly, it does.”

  
“So how do you deal with it,” Steve truly wondered. Will had been trapped in the Upside Down, traumatized, and possessed. Essentially not in control of his own body or destiny. Their situations were far from similar, but there were certain commonalities. He knew if Will deemed it important enough to bring up, then there was a purpose and he would patiently wait for him to connect the dots.

  
“I’d like to say I ignored them. I tried, but it still gets to me,” Will confessed. “And the people that aren’t calling me names treat me like I’m going to break or something. Like I’m damaged. It makes me feel…not normal. Lately, I’ve seen people treat you the same way sometimes.”

  
Maybe on some basic level Will really _did_ understand where he was coming from, even though the circumstances were wildly different. “So, when it gets like that…does anything help make you _not_ feel like that?”

  
“Doing normal, fun things like this. My Mom. Jonathan. All you guys. Sometimes I’m smothered a bit, but I know everyone really cares. And maybe, I keep hoping that eventually, all the good people and good voices and good memories will drown out the bad, ya know?”

  
Steve affectionately ruffled Will’s hair, giving him a small smirk. “Boy, did you nail your character name in that game. Will the Wise.” The younger boy beamed up at the older teen, pleased that he not only remembered his D & D character, but even more so that he seemed to take his words to heart.

  
The conversations of that night didn’t magically solve Steve’s self-esteem issues or erase what was happening to him, but being constantly surrounded by this group of wonderful people allowed him to momentarily forget all his insecurities from time to time. They were incredible individuals who proved to him daily, in big and small ways, that caring for someone went a lot deeper than superficialities like material things or good looks.

  
Hopper was the de facto leader of that pack, and one of Steve’s biggest champions. Currently, he was spending his off day at the Harrington residence monitoring the boy in case something went wrong, doing some light housework – because if he didn’t, Steve’s stubborn ass surely would, and ensuring Steve was fed. He set a light lunch in front of the teenager. Eating was still a major point of contention for him. It’s not that he _didn’t_ want to eat. Steve tried. He really did. But it all made him so sick. Nothing really helped alleviate the feeling, either. The phone rang, providing a welcome escape from his ongoing struggle. They’d been expecting this call to come, and Steve immediately went into the other room to answer it.

  
The police chief tried not to eavesdrop and concentrate on the food in front of him, but the anticipation was making him crazy. He thought he was going to crawl out of his skin by the time Steve reentered the kitchen. “Well?”

  
Steve crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, a shit-eating grin on his face. It must’ve been good news, but Jim waited for the teenager to confirm it. “They called with the results. Sorry, it took so long. I had to make some appointments and register and stuff.”

  
“Kid, you’re killing me here. What did they say? Appointments for what,” Hopper anxiously asked.

  
“For weekly chemo sessions. I don’t have to check back into the hospital,” Steve gave him a large open-mouthed smile and waved his hands around in an imitation of ‘jazz hands’. Hopper thought for a brief second that he was actually going to shout ‘ta-da’ at him. “My labs were better. They didn’t use the word ‘remission’ yet, but said I’m heading in the right direction finally.”

  
Hopper was painfully aware of this particular roller coaster ride and knew that the elation could change to despair on a dime, but for now an immense amount of relief washed over him. He stood up from the table and closed the distance between them in two long strides. He enveloped Steve in a crushing bear hug. “Yeah, you are. I’m really happy for you, kid.”

  
“Yep. Every Wednesday,” Steve stated proudly.

  
“Oh shit! This coming Wednesday?” Hopper rubbed a rough hand over his forehead, to relieve the tension suddenly gathering there.

  
“Yeah, why?” Steve was confused at Hopper’s reaction.

  
“I’ve got that conference in Indianapolis and Joyce is working-,“ the police chief paced back and forth in the expansive kitchen.

  
“Chief! Chief, it’s okay,” Steve interrupted, halting Hopper’s agitated steps with a hand to the arm. “I can drive myself. It’s not a big deal.”

  
“Like hell you can. It’s your first one and you don’t know how you’ll react.” Hopper resumed his pacing. “It could hit you while you’re driving and you could pass out, or you could be so dizzy you can’t sit up straight, or…lots of things. No, uh-uh, not happening.”

  
“Technically, it’s not really my first one.” Steve threw his hands up, surrendering, as Hopper whipped his head around and gave him a warning look. Steve was starting to think of it as ‘the dad stare’. “Okay, fine. I’m sure nothing will happen, but I can ask Jonathan or Nancy if it’ll make you feel better. Don’t worry. It’ll work out.”

  
As it turned out, it was Nancy that was accompanying him. He would’ve preferred Jonathan, quite frankly. Nancy meant well, but sometimes she acted more like an anxious mother – and not in the comforting Joyce Byers way – than a friend.

  
The pair rode the hospital elevator up to the third floor. Steve was grateful to be turning in the opposite direction of the inpatient rooms for a change. The entire wing was dedicated to patients like himself, so he wasn’t as uneasy about his appearance here as he was outside these walls. Up here, he blended right in.

  
The room where he was going to receive treatment was spacious and bright, dozens of recliners spread throughout in a large ‘u’ shape along the tall windows. He was able to choose where he wanted to sit, so he tucked himself comfortably into a corner, away from any other patients.

  
A nurse came over and he pulled down his loose-fitting, gray t-shirt so she could access his port, first drawing blood out of it before connecting him to the IV. Nancy was transfixed by the process, but soon realized she was staring and averted her eyes like she had been caught doing something she shouldn’t, or didn’t have a right to. “It’s okay to be curious, Nance. I’d rather you ask than not be able to look at me. We’ve known each other too long for that,” Steve said sadly.

  
Nancy realized that Steve was right. She had seen him getting chemo before in the hospital, sure, but she had never been present when the device had been pierced and so blatantly put on display, so her concerned inquisitiveness was only natural. They had history, so it _shouldn’t_ be so hard to witness. But maybe that’s _why_ it was so hard. Understanding that he would be even more offended if she said nothing at all, she finally settled on, “Does it – does it hurt?”

  
“The needle? A little, but it’s way better than getting it in the arm.” Steve reclined himself in the fake leather chair and shifted around to find a comfortable position to wait out the infusion. He inadvertently knocked his hat askew and hurried to readjust it.

  
“That’s a good color on you.” When Steve gave her a puzzled look, Nancy tilted her head up slightly. “It really brings out the color of your eyes,” she said, referring to the forest green, knit cap he sported today.

  
“Um, thanks?”

  
The ensuing silence stretched uncomfortably before the two teenagers. Why was it so damn _awkward?_ Maybe because Nancy was used to taking action and attacking a problem, not sitting idly by, doing absolutely nothing. But this was a problem she couldn’t _solve_. She was as helpless and at the mercy of this disease as the rest of them – Steve most of all. She may not have been _in love_ with him, but she did _love_ him and seeing him like this _hurt_. The object of her musings gave an involuntary shiver. “Are you cold, Steve?”

  
“Mmhmm,” he hummed. “Should’ve brought Lucas’ blanket with me. I’ll know better next time.”

  
This was actually something Nancy could fix. Grateful to have something constructive to do, she procured a blanket and draped it over him. He smiled at her in appreciation. Steve rolled onto his side and burrowed deeper into the lounge chair, gathering the blanket closer around himself. He let the soft _tick tick tick_ of the IV pump lull him into a light doze. Nancy watched him sadly as he dropped off.

  
Nancy spent the next couple hours restlessly paging through informational pamphlets as she discreetly observed the other patients in the room, flicking her attention back and forth to Steve now and then. He frowned in his sleep and stirred, dark lashes fluttering against his progressively sharp cheekbones until his eyes finally opened and he blinked at her sleepily. “Hey.”

  
“Hey.” She discarded the booklet on the table to her right. “How are you feeling?”

  
“Fine,” Steve rasped, but his actions negated his words as he tensed and scrunched up his whole face, crinkling his nose in the process.

  
Nancy was familiar with that tell. Steve always did that when he was hurting but failing to hide it completely. “I don’t believe you,” she said softly. “You’re in pain, aren’t you?” Steve started to protest, but she wouldn’t let him deny it this time. “How long has it been like this?”

  
“I’m always hurting, Nancy. It’s just part of it. It’s fine,” Steve sounded resigned.

  
“Of course it’s not fine! Why didn’t you say something,” the wetness gathered in her eyes before she could stop it. “They could give you something.”

  
“I have something at home for it, okay?” He turned over onto his back with a grunt. “It doesn’t help all that much. Just makes me more nauseous than I already am.”

  
“Maybe there’s something else? I could ask,” she offered tearfully. “You don’t have to suffer, Steve.”

  
“I’m okay. It’s really fine. I can handle it.” Steve’s creased forehead and knitted brows once again belied his words.

  
“Just promise me you’ll say something if it gets worse,” she fretted, hating to see him in pain, but knowing there wasn’t anything she could do about it at the moment if he was refusing medication. “Please?”

  
Steve nodded noncommittally. “Now, can we please talk about something else? Thinking about it only makes it worse.”

  
Nancy respected his request and droned on about any inane thing she could come up with to take his mind off of his discomfort until the end of his session. She continued her ramblings as they trekked back to the station wagon, Steve’s gait unsteady from a limp she had never seen before. Troubled, she fell quiet as she got him settled into the passenger seat and prepared to pull out of the parking lot.

  
They drove in silence for several miles before it was broken by Steve’s frenzied command. “Stop the car!”

  
“What?”

  
“Pull over,” he gulped out as Nancy steered the car sharply to the shoulder. Steve frantically slapped at the door handle, scurrying out of the vehicle. He didn’t even make it to the grass edge, splattering his stomach contents onto the pavement below his feet.

  
It took a moment for Nancy’s brain to catch up with what her eyes were seeing. Once it did, she hastily exited the car and moved swiftly to Steve’s side, rubbing his back in what she hoped was a comforting manner as he continued to heave.

  
When the onslaught of queasiness had largely dissipated, Steve rested his hands on his knees, spitting a few times onto the concrete to clear the taste of bile and acid from his mouth. Steve swayed as he straightened up and Nancy steadied him and led him over to the car, propping his body against it so he could catch his breath. After quite some time he nodded at her that he had recovered enough to go on.

  
Back in the car, she got them onto the road again, driving slowly and carefully to not heighten the nausea any more than it already was. Letting his eyes slide shut, Steve rested his head against the passenger window, a light sheen of sweat coating his brow. His left hand lay flat on the seat next to him, as if it were the only thing holding him up. Nancy was tempted to reach out and squeeze it. Not romantically in any way, but just as a supportive gesture to show Steve that she was here for him, no matter what.

  
Today had alarmed her more than it should have. Nancy knew that he was sick – of course she did. The last six weeks or more had highlighted that fact. But until now she hadn’t seen the full extent of it. There were others, closer to him than she was, to nurse him through the procedures and the grueling side effects, leaving her blissfully ignorant to the depth of Steve’s cycle of misery. Seeking comfort, as well as wanting to offer it, she gave into the urge and clasped his thin hand.

  
Steve popped one eye open and viewed her blearily. “It’s okay. I’m okay, Nance,” he once again muttered a reassurance. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple visibly bobbing. “Just don’t mention – Hopper was right - again. Don’t tell him I said that, though. Okay?”

  
“I won’t?” Nancy intoned it like a question, and Steve laughed loudly at her confusion. His amusement was contagious and eventually she joined in. The peals of laughter died down only to be reignited by shared glances over a shared secret, until they were left gasping for air. They both cackled hysterically, being for a few moments the stupid, carefree teenagers Steve always wanted them to be, and forgetting the very adult situation looming over them. And it felt really nice.

  
Thankfully, after the next two trips to the hospital, Steve was actually able to make it back to his house before losing it on the bathroom floor. Hopper had been with him both times, and although he never would have gotten upset with him over something he couldn’t control, he was relieved Mrs. Byers – Joyce, she kept insisting – was with him today.

  
What Hopper _had_ gotten upset over was Steve’s latest set of blood work which indicated he was dangerously close to being labeled as malnourished. His weight had also dropped substantially, as well as several key lab values. They didn’t go into specifics, but the doctors had given him a grave warning that if he didn’t take in more, there would be action they would need to take to prevent further complications. They went so far as to order protein shakes that Hopper pushed and pushed on him when he failed to eat adequately, which was every meal. The food either wouldn’t make it past his lips, or if it by some miracle did, it would be immediately expelled as soon as the substance hit his shrinking stomach. It was so frustrating to know you needed to eat – even _wanted_ to eat - but _couldn’t_. And to have someone breathing down your neck about it just made it worse. That was another check in Mrs. Byers’ column. She didn’t press quite as hard.

  
Her presence always brought Steve a sense of tranquility in the midst of his chaotic storm which he so badly needed today. The hike to the third floor seemed monumental to his dilapidated body. The fatigue threatened to overwhelm him, slowing his pace to the point it felt as if he was moving underwater.

  
Joyce detected his bone-crushing weariness. “Steve, honey…you seem extra wiped out today. Would you like me to get a wheelchair, so you don’t have to walk too far?”

  
Steve was appreciative of her phrasing it in such a way that he was given a choice instead of being ordered what to do. Mrs. Byers had a knack for not making him feel like a helpless child or a total invalid, even if the description seemed closer to accurate than not these days. Another check in her column. His lips pulled up slightly. “No, thank you though. I can manage,” Steve said a bit breathlessly.

  
“Well, if you need to stop for a moment, we can.” They progressed into the interior of the hospital at a snail’s pace. Joyce displayed all the motherly patience in the world as she merely refolded the blanket over her arm and continued wordlessly beside Steve while he plodded along, feet flopping listlessly on the linoleum.

  
Once Steve was connected to the medications and got situated, Joyce spread the fuzzy blanket over him. She lovingly caressed his gradually hollowing cheek. Joyce was fiercely protective of all the children, her sons especially, of course, but also her sons’ friends. Even though Will’s friends were younger, there was something about the boy before her that just radiated this raw vulnerability which cried out to her mothering instincts and quietly demanded her attention.

  
At first, she hadn’t thought much about Steve Harrington at all. He was just another classmate of Jonathan’s, a teenager with a bit of a wild streak, but well-mannered and polite when in the company of adults. The whole incident with Jonathan occurred and she began to wonder if his reputation had some truth behind it, after all. But then the Upside Down transpired, and she heard the legendary stories of Steve using himself as a human shield, placing himself in harm’s way to keep the kids safe from monsters – both otherworldly and Earthbound - and themselves. The tales told by the kids painted him as ferocious a guardian to rival anyone, including herself.

  
The subsequent passage of time allowed her to see what the kids, particularly Dustin, saw – a desperately lonely boy with a big heart, that until Demogorgons and Shadow Monsters came along, had no one to share it with. A boy that had to grow up too fast with no one around to fall back on besides himself. No one there to celebrate his successes or lament his failures with. No one there to soothe him in the dead of night when the nightmares crept in. A boy who became the very definition of self _less_ instead of self _ish_ , defying the preconceived notions of the rich Harrington family. A boy, on the cusp of being a man, who became an adopted big brother, bordering on parental figure, to a group of misfit kids, designated as such by the kids themselves in a collective unspoken agreement because they recognized that Steve needed them as much as they needed Steve.

  
And then, tragically, the cancer happened, and Joyce was unreasonably almost _glad_ the Upside Down existed because otherwise Steve would have tried to handle the ordeal on his own. In fact, he did try at first - not thinking he had anyone left to turn to, having been abandoned by parents and ‘friends’ alike up until that point. Without the Upside Down that bound them all together for life, he may never had felt comfortable enough, albeit hesitantly so, to _reach out_ for their help. It disturbed her to her very core, that at his weakest moment Steve would’ve had to rely on _strangers_ to care for him instead of his so-called _family_ if certain catastrophic events had not led them all to one another and accidentally, but blessedly, formed their new, chosen family.

  
As Steve had sat before her in her kitchen that fateful day, shyly and shamefully admitting his ability to be as self-reliant as he was accustomed to was an impossibility that was ill-advised by the medical professionals, all the nurturing bones in her body screamed out to shower the boy with every bit of parental warmth and support he was sorely lacking. So, Joyce found herself a very willing surrogate mother – and Jim a very willing surrogate father – to a gravely ill boy whose gentle spirit and good nature emanated from deep within despite his series of heart-breaking circumstances. A soul so very broken and fragile and so, so _precious_.

  
Joyce’s affection for Steve engulfed her to the extent it compelled her to reach out and physically express it. She tenderly patted his arm that was balanced on top of the armrest in a way that wouldn’t inhibit the tubing that disappeared into the space just below his shoulder. Observing him, she once again internally cursed his sorry excuse for parents. How dare his parents! Just…how dare they!

  
As if reading her mind, Steve turned his head in her direction. “You know, I heard from my parents yesterday,” he started uncertainly.

  
“Oh,” Joyce attempted to come off as nonchalant, wanting to avoid upsetting Steve any further over the matter. “How did that go?”

  
“Awkward as hell,” he snorted derisively. “Small talk mostly, like they were talking to one of their business associates. ‘How are things, Steven? Staying out of trouble? How’s the weather? By the way, we won’t be back until after Labor Day so take care.’ They barely even acknowledged the cancer. What a joke!”

  
Joyce restrained herself from what she really wanted to say. “I’m so sorry, Steve.”

  
“Yeah, well…denial’s their specialty. I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s nothing new,” he shrugged ambivalently. “What about you? You must be freaking out. Jonathan leaving for college next week and all?”

  
Joyce thoughtfully chewed on her bottom lip. “Well, not as much as you might think. I know he can handle himself, and after everything…else, college seems like a breeze.” Steve just looked at her regretfully. She laid her hand atop his. “You’ll get there one day. You will.”

  
Steve gave her a disbelieving expression, but said no more on the subject as he didn’t wish to pursue that avenue of conversation. There was very little to discuss on that topic even before his diagnosis. And truth be told, the chemo was catching up to him quicker than it usually did. He didn’t feel quite himself, but pushed it aside, shifting the focus back onto Joyce and her oldest son. “How does Jonathan feel about leaving?”

  
“Oh, you know, he’s worried, but excited…” Joyce trailed off as Steve had, out of the blue, sat up rigidly and brought a tremulous hand to the collar of his shirt, twisting and pulling on it. All the color drained rapidly from his face. “Steve, sweetheart, are you alright?”

  
Steve stood up very shakily and gripped the IV pole for support. “I’ll be – I’ll be right back,” he excused himself hurriedly.

  
A few worrying minutes had passed, and Joyce narrowly resisted the urge to go check on Steve. If she barged into the bathroom now, she would just embarrass them both and personally she wouldn’t someone to watch her throw up, either. Fortunately, he reemerged before her emotions could override her logic, and Joyce exhaled in relief.

  
The relief was short-lived as Steve was even wobblier and paler than before, if that was possible. Both of his hands were wrapped around the IV pole, clinging to it for dear life. Joyce shot out of her seat and dashed to his side. “What’s wrong, honey?”

  
Steve’s slender fingers fleetingly clutched at his chest. “I don’t – I don’t -,” he let out a cough. “I feel funny.”

  
Joyce guided him over to the recliner with an arm encircling his narrow waist and immediately got him sitting down. He was trembling all over and very clammy. She pressed the back of her hand to Steve’s forehead searching for fever, but he didn’t feel warm in the least. If anything, he was cool. “Funny how?”

  
Steve produced another staccato cough. “Something – something’s…not right.” He inhaled deeply as if trying to catch his breath, but it sparked another short cough. “Too – too fast.”

  
Joyce kneeled in front of the distressed boy, clasping both his hands between hers. “What’s too fast, honey?”

  
He wriggled one hand out of her grasp and placed it limply in the center of his chest, coughing once again. “Here…” Steve’s large eyes widened even further with fear as his breathing sped up. “My - my heart…”

  
Joyce slid two fingers to the side of Steve’s wrist still in his lap and paused there. The beats she felt were too rapid and not at all steady and regular. “Hey! Hey,” she yelled over her shoulder to the person sitting at the nurses’ station. “We need some help over here. Now!”

  
Running footfalls came to an abrupt halt in front of the pair. “What seems to be the trouble, Steve?”

  
“Don’t feel right. My heart…too fast,” Steve repeated for the nurse in partial sentences. His words were peppered with the newly acquired light coughs, stealing some of his much-needed air from his throat.

  
“Did you vomit just before you felt that way?” Steve nodded as he let out yet another soft cough. “Sometimes that happens. Are you having any pain?” To this question he shook his head as another cough escaped. “Have you ever had a panic attack before?”

  
“This is _not_ a panic attack! Steve has never, not once, ever complained about his heart. If he says there’s something wrong, there. is. something. wrong. Just feel his pulse for God’s sake,” Joyce commanded.

  
“So, nothing like this has ever happened before,” the nurse clarified.

  
Joyce snapped. “Why are you still asking him questions? You’re wasting time! Go get whatever equipment or machine you need to get to check him out. And feel his goddamn pulse!”

  
The nurse obliged, frowning as the seconds ticked by and she came to the same conclusion Joyce had. A flurry of activity suddenly swarmed Steve who was growing more and more frightened by the increasing number of hands that were examining him and hooking him up to various machines that he didn’t understand the purpose for. Vital signs were taken, a stethoscope placed over his heart and lungs, monitors connected, and an EKG performed. The latter spurred a frantic phone call to the doctor who urgently appeared on the ward.

  
Through it all, Joyce stood aside but nearby, maintaining eye contact with the terrified boy to try to telepathically soothe him somehow. Steve’s panic was written all over his face as the doctor studied the tracing and made a phone call of his own before addressing them. “Steve, I’m afraid we’re going to have to admit you. What you are experiencing is an irregular heartbeat. What we don’t know is why. We need to keep you here to monitor you and try to find the cause.”

  
Steve listened numbly, still emitting occasional tiny coughs. Joyce maneuvered closer to the teenager. “What about the coughing? That’s not his heart is it?”

  
“It can be. It may be he’s coughing every time his heart skips a beat,” the doctor explained. “But we’ll do some tests and see exactly what we’re dealing with. Hang in there, Steve. We’ll get it figured out. The room’s ready and they’ll be moving you shortly so we can get started.”

  
As the staff prepared to transfer Steve to the other side of the unit, she pulled the boy into her arms and rocked him. His back jumped now and then in her hold from the persistent coughs. “We’re going to get you through this, don’t worry. You’ll be okay.”

  
Across town, in the main library, far away from the turmoil in the hospital, Hopper was doing a little research on a current case. He passed by Dustin, plucking a book from the stacks, and did a doubletake. “What are you doing in here instead of out enjoying your last couple weeks of freedom?”

  
“Just getting a jump on eighth grade reading. Don’t wanna fall behind before I even start,” Dustin stated matter-of-factly.

  
Hopper rolled his eyes. These kids were really something. “Yeah, well, you all are better than I ever was back in my day. Uh, good for you, I guess.” His radio crackled to life on his hip. He yanked it off his belt. “Go ahead.”

  
“Chief, I just got a call from Joyce Byers,” Flo said over the line. “She’s trying to reach you. Says it’s an emergency.”

  
Hopper’s heart leapt into his throat. Joyce was with Steve today. “What type of emergency, Flo?” The receptionist paused a moment too long. “Dammit, tell me exactly what of type emergency!”

  
“She said she’s with your boy, Steve, and that he’s being admitted to the hospital. She was rambling a bit, but from what I could make out, it was some sort of heart episode. Said you needed to get down there right away, Chief,” Flo regrettably enlightened him.

  
“If she calls again, let her know I’m on my way.” Dustin had heard the whole exchange and looked up at him beseechingly. “No, uh-uh. You stay here until I figure out what’s going on.”

  
“There’s no way you’re keeping me away from that hospital if there’s something seriously wrong with Steve,” Dustin obstinately declared. “So, you can either let me ride with you or I will bike all the way across this town, but I’m going.”

  
They were wasting precious time discussing this, so the chief relented because he knew Dustin was stubbornly determined. He was extremely close to the older teenager and would not be swayed. “Let’s get a move on, then.” The pair raced to his cruiser, and Jim flipped on the sirens that rarely got used in their tiny town.

  
The tension was thick from the worry that threatened to choke them both, not knowing what awaited them at the hospital. Once inside, Hopper pounded the elevator button repetitively, as if it would actually summon the car any sooner. Dustin nervously twisted his hat in his hands, as it still lay atop his curly hair.

  
When the doors slid open and deposited them on the third floor, they darted out onto the ward, searching hastily for the correct room. As they drew nearer to their destination, Steve’s pitiful wail reached their ears. “Noooooo! I don’t want it! Please, no.”

  
It was a little bit of a relief to hear Steve’s voice, however anguished it was, because at least he was conscious and talking. After a few false starts, Jim flew into the right room, Dustin following close on his heels. The space was occupied not only by Steve, but by a doctor and Joyce, as well. “What’s happening? What’s going on? Joyce?”

  
“Oh, Hop. Thank God! I’m glad you’re here,” Joyce exclaimed anxiously.

  
“What is it? What happened?” The police chief’s eyes raked over Steve, lying prostrate in the hospital bed, almost as white as the sheets he laid against. One of the only spots of color was the bright maroon beanie – that all the kids agreed matched the color of his car - that he wore. The blue and white hospital gown swallowed his small, bony frame, accentuating his weight loss even more than the now too-large clothes he usually wore. Wires and tubing sprouted from his chest, as an unsteady beeping echoed throughout the room. “Will somebody fill me in?”

  
“Steve got sick during his treatment. But afterwards he said he felt funny. His pulse was racing, Hop,” Joyce began to explain. “And they did this EKG thingy, and his heart…his heart-“

  
Dustin stood open-mouthed as Hopper turned his puzzled countenance between Joyce and the doctor. The doctor stepped forward to expound on the situation. “After this latest episode of vomiting, which I understand is one of many, Steve here went into an arrhythmia which means his heart is beating irregularly. We are going to thoroughly evaluate his heart to rule out any cardiac causes, but based on his continued difficulty with his intake and the labs we just got back, I’m fairly confident we’ve discovered the reason.”

  
“Care to enlighten us, doc?”

  
“Steve’s magnesium, sodium, and potassium are all dangerously low. It’s not all that uncommon with prolonged bouts of emesis. And like I mentioned before, my understanding is Steve’s barely been eating and was already advised to supplement his intake with protein shakes. When one, or all of the electrolytes are too high or too low, it can actually cause changes in the EKG and an irregular heartbeat. If it’s not corrected in time, it can actually send him into cardiac arrest.”

  
“Okay, so…correct it, then. What’s the problem,” Hopper was baffled as to the dissension in the room when he first arrived. To him it was very simple – the problem had been identified and there was a definite solution.

  
“We are, but we have to do so slowly, or it can cause more medical issues,” the doctor pointed to the IV pole upon which several clear bags hung.

  
“I don’t want it, Chief. Please. I don’t want it,” Steve bordered on whining. Despite the wires encumbering him, he began to extricate himself from underneath the covers and sat on the edge of the bed. “Don’t let them do it, please!”

  
Joyce was at the bedside in an instant. “Steve, lie back down, honey. You need to take it easy.”

  
“Do what? I don’t understand, kid,” Hopper strived to piece together the gist of Steve’s words as kindly as he could.

  
“I’m an adult now, right? I can refuse to have it done, can’t I,” Steve questioned him earnestly, his eyebrows arched in a silent plea to the policeman.

  
Hopper stood with his hands on his hips, police hat secured in one hand. “I’m still not sure what we’re talking about here. If it’s just the IVs, you’ve had something like those before, kid. What’s the big deal?”

  
“No! No, it’s not that!” In his agitation, Steve thrust himself off the bed, barely keeping himself upright on his weakened limbs. “I don’t want it! It’ll make me more of a freak than I already am! I don’t want a tube shoved up my nose! Please…”

  
Joyce placed an arm on his back to steady him as the beeps of the heart monitor got closer together and more erratic. “Steve, sweetie, please calm down. Getting yourself worked up like this is making things worse. Listen!”

  
As Joyce spoke, it clicked in Hopper’s brain what exactly Steve meant that he couldn’t quite coherently articulate. He had known it was a remote possibility from past experience, but never dreamed it would get to this extreme – and so quickly - for the boy in front of him. Massaging his temples to release some of the built-up stress, he chose to address Steve’s comments first before diving into the deeper issue. “Yes, kid, you are technically a legal adult and have the right to refuse treatment, but-“

  
“Hopper,” Joyce interrupted sharply, appalled that he would even entertain the notion of Steve rejecting treatment.

  
“To expand upon what I said earlier and put this in another perspective,” the doctor continued, “we can correct the electrolyte imbalance now and theoretically return your heart to normal function. But Steven, if we don’t fix the _reason_ that it’s occurring, it will only happen again and again. We’ve tried, unsuccessfully, to minimize the vomiting and other output, so the only choice left is to make sure you have enough intake to counterbalance what you’re losing. The safest and most effective way to do this, since you are unable to do it on your own, is to place a feeding tube. If we don’t, you could have another episode like this causing your heart to stop, and you could die,” he said bluntly.

  
Hopper’s attention went from Steve to the doctor, and back to Steve again. “As I was saying, you are _allowed_ to refuse this treatment, _but_ I don’t think that’s a wise choice. I know you don’t want this Steve, and I can’t lie to you…it’s not exactly pleasant, but you heard what the doctor said. This is serious, Steve. It’s for your own good, I swear.”

  
Steve’s eyes swam with unshed tears. “But I don’t want that, Hop. I don’t want to have a tube up my nose and be hooked up to a machine for the rest of my life,” he whispered distraughtly.

  
“Aw no, kid. No,” Hopper said gently, stepping towards Steve slowly as if he were approaching a wild animal. “You wouldn’t be hooked up to a machine _all_ the time. And it’s definitely not forever. Right doc? It’s temporary, Steve.”

  
“It’s not intended to be permanent, no. Just until you’re stabilized and are able to consistently eat and maintain your nutrition. And we can titrate the amount of the tube feeding based on your daily intake. We have to start slowly, so you’ll have to be attached longer at the beginning, but as time goes on, it could potentially only be at night while you’re sleeping, or even just boluses at mealtimes depending on your tolerance level,” the doctor patiently laid out the possible scenarios to try to persuade Steve to accept the treatment he so desperately needed.

  
Hopper watched the wheels turn in Steve’s head, attempting to process all the information presented to him in such a short time while he was simultaneously wading through a litany of physical ailments, also. The inconsistent beeps emitted by the heart monitor served to further illustrate the other adults’ viewpoint. Steve let out a few, brief coughs before starting to speak. “I don’t – I really don’t…,” Hopper silently willed Steve to choose the option that, although unpleasant, would put the odds more in his favor than the alternative. “I still don’t…”

  
Joyce compassionately stroked her surrogate son’s back, wishing that above all else she could remove all the heartache and distress that seemed to follow him. He vibrated with exhaustion and she didn’t know how much more his poor body could stand right now – quite literally. “No matter what you choose, sweetheart, we’ll all be here. We’ll get you through this.”

  
Dustin had been unusually silent watching the exchange between Steve and the other adults in the room, his eyes bouncing from one person to another, just trying to absorb everything. Normally, Dustin would support Steve however and whenever his friend needed, but on this he was more than a little conflicted. He once again sympathized with the older boy’s emotional torment over his predicament, but ultimately the scientific facts on what was best for him were indisputable.

  
What it all essentially boiled down to, is Dustin didn’t want to lose Steve at all – in any way - but especially if it could somehow be prevented. He knew Steve could just as easily lose his battle to cancer as win it, but this was something within their control that could be fixed – if only he would allow it. And Dustin was not above begging if it meant more time with his best friend. Dustin approached Steve with tears in his eyes. “Please, Steve. Let them do it,” he pleaded, undeterred by the myriad of wires and embracing the older teen for everything he was worth. “I don’t know what I’d do if…Just, please. I’m not ready to let you go. I don’t want you to die,” Dustin whispered against his bony sternum, the moisture from his cheeks soaked up by the thin hospital gown.

  
All the voices chased each other in his head, and they were all logical, but it was Dustin’s broken plea that pierced Steve’s heart most of all. He knew that everyone in the room was right. He did. He was just so beaten down and tired from it all, and it had barely even started. The reserves of his strength were dwindling, and where he would draw more from, he didn’t know.

  
The heart monitor alarmed and beeped at varying intervals, and it just added to the chaos in Steve’s head. He looked from Dustin’s imploring and understanding eyes to Joyce’s warm and loving gaze, both regarding him without judgement. He met Hopper’s strong and unwavering stare, and came to an agonizing decision. He finally surrendered, giving the slightest of nods. Dustin’s shoulders sagged in relief at the implication as he stepped back from his friend to allow him some breathing room.

  
A trail of wetness tracked down Steve’s ashen cheek. “I – I guess…they can – they can do it.”

  
Hopper grinned at him. The background noise that was composed of the increasingly harsh fluctuations of the heart monitor didn’t fully register with any of the inhabitants of the room, too occupied with the immense relief that spread amongst them all at Steve’s consent to the procedure. “Really, kid? You’ll let them do it?”

  
“Al – alright,” he reluctantly confirmed his permission. The chief spread his arms out invitingly. Steve took two tottering steps towards him before his eyes rolled back in his head – and he fainted into Hopper’s outstretched arms.


	7. Oh, My Agony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A serious conversation takes place after some goodbyes. Steve is continually ripped apart by his need to fulfill his role of group protector and big brother, and admitting that his illness won't always allow him to do so the way he always wants to. The stress is wearing down his armor, but The Party once again proves just how special they are. And a new complication could be arising.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response to this has been more than I could have hoped for, so thank you so much!! I love reading any comments and appreciate every view, kudos, etc. This chapter kind of grew to monstrous proportions, so it's a bit longer. I took a few minor liberties with El's powers. No real TW except for side effects. As always, happy reading and stay safe out there!

As Steve sluggishly returned to consciousness, he followed the same routine he had each and every time he had awoken during the last week. Before he even pried his tired eyes open, he blindly reached up and traced the thin, beige tube protruding from his nostril and anchored in place by strong adhesive tape. His fingers trailed along to where it disappeared behind the curve of his right ear, the need to affirm the reality of this latest hellish development an almost unhealthy compulsion.

  
Jonathan and Nancy viewed the woeful ritual with a sort of detached sorrow. Nothing they could say or do would ease the sting of the situation, however temporary it was. Guilt gnawed at both of them as they prepared to leave for the next chapter of their lives tomorrow while their friend was left behind to cope with another decline in his condition, any plans he might’ve had for the future brought to a screeching halt by some hideous disease.

  
Steve was at first unaware he had an audience at the bedside. He squinted blearily until the duo came into focus. “Nancy? Jonathan?”

  
Nancy lightly lay her hand on Steve’s wrist. “Yeah, it’s us.”

  
Steve drew in a deep breath and scooted himself up in the bed as best he could with all the wires and tubes still encumbering him. “Not that I’m not glad to see you, but what are you doing here? Don’t you have a ton of stuff to do before you leave tomorrow?”

  
“That’s kind of why we’re here,” Jonathan began. “We couldn’t leave without saying goodbye first.”

  
“That’s really sweet and all, but you shouldn’t waste your time on your last full day in Hawkins with me in this dump,” Steve said glumly. “I’m sorry I won’t be at the party, but you two should go have fun. You deserve it.”

  
Nancy’s face fell at Steve’s offhand statement insinuating that he wasn’t important enough for them to spend their time on. Quite the opposite was true, actually. It was vital they come today to see him. Both of them would be gone from home for the next several months – at least until Thanksgiving. Given everything that had occurred over the summer, including this current scare, there was an unspoken fear of what could transpire before they returned. Nothing was certain anymore, and the very idea that something could easily happen to Steve while they were away at school found panic creeping up to grip their throats. They _just had to_ see him before they left. “You deserve it, too, Steve. You do.” She tightened her hold on his wrist. “We’re so sorry you’re stuck in here again.”

  
“Maybe after you get out, you can come visit sometime,” Jonathan suggested hopefully. The likelihood of Steve being able to travel from Indiana to New York in the near future was slim at best, and they all knew it, but it was a nice thought to entertain. “Did they say when they might let you outta here?”

  
“A couple days maybe? They finished testing my heart and said it was mostly fine, so this thing might be coming off soon,” Steve frowned and fiddled with the heart monitor in mild irritation. He had said ‘mostly fine’ which Nancy filed away for later, but let him continue. “I should be done with the IV potassium soon and taking the pills instead. I think it’s mostly about trying to get me switched to just being connected to the feedings at night and learning how to do that and stuff.”

  
“How are you feeling, though,” Nancy pinned him to the bed with her analyzing gaze.

  
“Fine,” Steve sighed. “Just bored as hell. I can’t really _do_ much attached to all this stuff, but I’m going crazy seeing the same four walls all the time again.”

  
“Would you want to get out of here if you’re allowed,” Nancy grinned at him slyly. Steve nodded eagerly. “Okay, I’ll be right back.”

  
“She’s always up to something,” Jonathan snickered.

  
“Well, she’s _your_ girlfriend now, so good luck with that,” Steve intentionally kept his tone light and teasing. There was a time joking about it wouldn’t have been possible, but that time had long since passed.

  
They shared a laugh as Jonathan reached inside his bag and pulled out a manila envelope. “Here’s the rest of the photos I’ve taken.”

  
Steve accepted the envelope and stuck it in the drawer in the nightstand. “Thanks, man. I’ll look at ‘em later.”

  
Jonathan seemed as if he had more to say, but wasn’t overly keen on doing so. “Nancy kinda asked me to take some photos today – of us three, if you’re alright with that. I’d understand if you don’t want to. You’re in the hospital and all, but it’s just…I think she wants to take everyone here at home with her somehow. And – and to tell you the truth…so do I. You’re part of home, Steve.”

  
Steve wanted to say no because he couldn’t even stand to face his own reflection in the mirror these days, and this current hospital stay certainly hadn’t helped improve his self-esteem any. But they had all done so much for him that it seemed selfish not to grant this simple request, despite his misgivings about his looks. “Okay, as long as I get copies, too.”

  
Jonathan gave him a relieved smile as Nancy reentered the room with a wheelchair and the nurse in tow. Steve groaned. “Can’t I just walk?”

  
“Not if you want to go off this floor,” the nurse informed him brightly as Steve’s eyes lit up in response to the concept that he could vacate the unit. “But I suppose it wouldn’t hurt if you wanted to get to the elevator under your own power.”

  
It was quite the production to prepare Steve to be mobile. The heart monitor was disconnected, and the two separate pumps were stripped off their original poles and reattached to the pole on the back of the wheelchair. It was an awful amount of work to just get out of the room, but he was finally ready. Nancy patted the seat. “Your chariot awaits, King Steve.”

  
That comment burned more than it should have. “Please don’t call me that. I’m not that person anymore.”

  
Nancy apologized as she helped him into a backwards hospital gown that would function like a robe, keeping the back of him covered. Steve assured her it was fine and that he knew she didn’t mean anything by it as he rose unsteadily to his feet.

  
Steve wound up pushing the wheelchair down the hall himself because he was tethered to it and couldn’t stray too far, otherwise the lines would be pulled too tight. It also gave him something to hold on to as he shuffled unevenly along. Jonathan hovered by his side, ready to catch him if he went down. By the time the trio reached the elevator, Steve was disproportionately grateful to sit back down. It was disheartening how drained just a little bit of simple activity still made him.

  
Nancy pushed the button for the lobby and the elevator descended. “Wait, today’s Wednesday, right? Aren’t you supposed to get chemo today?”

  
Steve shook his head. “Not today. Apparently, I wasn’t stable enough and need a week off to recover.” He rolled his eyes as he was propelled into the center courtyard, as if what he experienced was a minor inconvenience instead of a potentially fatal event.

  
Jonathan wheeled him next to a bench surrounded by large planters spilling over with different varieties of brightly colored flowers. Bees danced lazily from petal to petal. “Is here okay?”

  
“Yes, thank you.” Steve turned his face to the sky and allowed the summer sun to bathe him in warmth. “Oh my God, this feels amazing!”

  
Nancy and Jonathan shared a furtive smile, witnessing Steve relish in just being _outside_ – something so small and ordinary that most took for granted. The late afternoon heat was at its peak intensity and the humidity caused their clothes to cling unpleasantly to their bodies, but in that moment, none of that mattered. Seeing Steve so relaxed and peaceful made the fact that the pair were likely to be late for their own party at this point, all worth it.

  
Jonathan removed his camera equipment from his bag and pieced it together. “Before we all dissolve into puddles of sweat, we should probably go ahead and snap a few photos.”

  
Steve joined Nancy on the bench. The flowers were a naturally picturesque background, and Jonathan tried to angle the shots in such a way that the lines adorning Steve’s cheek and chest were the least visible to make him feel less self-conscious. He wasn’t able to erase them altogether, but when Nancy laid her head upon Steve’s shoulder and he propped his head against hers, it allowed Jonathan to get some good photos where they were mostly hidden from view.

  
Jonathan erected the tripod and was able to place himself in some of the pictures with the aid of the timer. Their faces were smushed together to get them all in the frame, but he was fairly confident the photos would turn out well.

  
“Thank you for doing this,” Nancy twisted her bracelet anxiously. It was almost time to go, but she had been refraining from asking this particular question for awhile, and she couldn’t leave without finding out the answer first. “What does ‘mostly fine’ mean, Steve?”

  
“What?” Steve deposited himself back into the wheelchair as Jonathan released the brakes and they started the journey back to the hospital room.

  
“Earlier you said you were told that your heart was ‘mostly fine’. What does that mean exactly?” Nancy ambled beside the chair, trying not to let the concern overtake her.

  
Steve waited for the elevator door to close and for it to begin its ascent before he responded. “It just means – it just means that the function is down, like a tiny little bit from before which is like, apparently totally normal with chemo. They said it should bounce back when it’s done. No big deal.”

  
Nancy didn’t know if he was completely oblivious to the potential seriousness of such a thing or just purposely dismissive for her sake, but she leaned toward the latter. Ever since she had met him, Steve had the uncanny ability to ignore his own distress, usually to his detriment. Either way it broke her heart that he said it in such a casual manner, as if it were a completely _normal_ everyday occurrence that one’s organs weren’t operating at peak capacity. But she said no more on the matter as they, with the help of the nurse, got him settled back into bed.

  
“I hope you don’t mind if I call you now and then to check in,” Jonathan said, a little choked up. He reached down to hug Steve and was dismayed to feel his vertebrae prominently jutting out. “I’m going to miss you, man. Take care of yourself, alright?”

  
“You too,” Steve returned the hug. “And you’re welcome to call anytime. I can’t wait to hear all about college.”

  
Jonathan stepped aside so Nancy could have her goodbye. She was clearly on the verge of tears and willing them not to overflow. She embraced Steve tightly. “Steve, I – I – just please promise me you’ll look after yourself. I’m _worried_ about you.”

  
Steve pulled back and thumbed away an errant tear from her cheek. “Heyheyhey, _don’t be_. I’ve got plenty of people to look after me. Jonathan’s mom and your brother for starters. Hopper. The rest of the kids, especially Dustin, for Christ’s sake. I’ll be _fine_.”

  
Nancy’s lip quivered and she drew in a shaky breath before diving back into his arms. “I’m really going to miss you.”

  
“I’m going to miss you, too. Now go do great things. Both of you. I’ll be here when you come back,” Steve vowed with all the bravado he could muster.

  
Nancy detached herself from her friend and reluctantly followed Jonathan down the hallway, finally dissolving into near-hysterical sobs when they got around the corner. “What if this is it? What if we never see him again, Jonathan? I don’t know if I could take that.”

  
Jonathan wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders. “Hey, you can’t think like that, alright? We have to have faith that Steve’s going to be just fine, okay?” He knew his words rang hollow because it was a possibility, however remote it seemed, that could too easily become a reality. All they could do was pray that didn’t come to pass.

  
But the one certainty was that Steve would not be alone – even tonight. Claudia Henderson was visiting the hospital that evening so everyone else, Dustin included, could attend the party. Steve was secretly glad she was the one coming because an idea for a special surprise for Dustin and the rest of the kids was forming in his head, and he was going to enlist her help to make it happen.

  
Claudia played her role to a tee, expertly stalling Dustin the following Tuesday morning from leaving too early for his first day of eighth grade. She may have delayed breakfast a tiny bit and “misplaced” Dustin’s new backpack until he was on the brink of throwing a tantrum from the anxiety.

  
A horn honked outside that she instantly recognized, but Dustin was too caught up in his meltdown to process it. It sounded again. “Dusty, I think your ride’s here, honey.”

  
“Ride? What?” Dustin snatched up all his supplies and busted out of the front door, his frenzy forgotten in lieu of his newfound confusion.

  
Steve stood, leaning casually against the passenger door with his arms crossed. “Hurry up, dipshit or we’re going to be late. I’ve got four other kids to pick up, ya know.”

  
Dustin looked between his mother and Steve, absolutely stunned. It dawned on him that the two adults had coordinated this. “You – you two – how-“

  
Steve clapped his hands together. “Let’s go. Let’s go.” As Dustin hopped into the passenger seat, Steve circled to the driver’s side, his gait hitching slightly. He waved at Claudia and mouthed a ‘thank you’.

  
Dustin gawked at Steve as the older teen put the BMW in gear and pulled out of the driveway. “Why – when –“

  
Steve thought it was cute that Dustin was rendered nearly speechless by his appearance this morning. He explained before Dustin could stutter out any more partially formed questions. “When your mom came to stay with me in the hospital the night of the going away party, I asked her if she could help me out a little bit so I could surprise you all. I thought it might be nice on your last first day of grade school, for me to take you and pick you up. You shitheads are now the big guys on campus, and _somebody_ has to teach you all the cool stuff and make sure you don’t blow it. Your mom also called the other parents so they could do the same thing to them as she did to you.”

  
Dustin regained the ability to speak as Steve smirked fondly at him. “You…Dude, you’re totally amazing! You know that right?”

  
“Well, I _may have_ been told that once or twice before, but you can never hear it enough. So, thanks!” Steve kept his left hand on the steering wheel, but offered his right hand, palm up, for Dustin to slap which he enthusiastically did.

  
Dustin shifted until his back was pressed against the door and he was entirely facing his friend. Steve was in profile, completely concentrated on driving, allowing the curly-haired boy to get a full view of the feeding tube secured to his right cheek by a strip of thin, clear tape. It reminded him of exactly where Steve had been so recently, for a little over a week. Suddenly, Dustin was unsure about how safe a plan this was for Steve to be out transporting a group of eighth graders to and from school. He wasn’t worried about Steve putting _them_ in any danger. He would never do that. But what he would do, would be to put _himself_ at risk for fear of disappointing them. “Not that I’m not like, totally appreciative and everything, but are you sure you feel okay enough to do this? I mean, you just got out of the hospital, like three days ago.”

  
Steve’s initial reaction was to get irritated, but Dustin’s concerns were valid. “I feel fine. Honestly,” he assured his younger friend as he gestured wildly with his free hand. ‘Fine’ may have been too generous a word for it. He was still plagued by the fatigue, nausea, and strong aches and pains that got the best of him sometimes, but he was able to squash those things down and ignore them most days – okay, _some_ days. “It’s like those weeks I didn’t have chemo and I felt better after. I’ve actually been able _to eat_ a little something, Dusty. Eat, for Christ’s sake! And this stupid thing…,” Steve thrust a finger at the tube and gave a sideways glance to the younger teen, “I hate it, but it must be doing _something_ because I don’t feel dizzy all the time.”

  
Every word that came out of Steve’s mouth was said with such conviction that Dustin had no choice but to believe him. Steve wasn’t a very good liar anyway, but Dustin really hoped he was not downplaying his sickness in any way for his benefit. Dustin was going to worry about his friend no matter what. “I love the idea of you doing school runs again, just please don’t overdo it.”

  
“Don’t sweat it so much, man. I won’t. Trust me, okay? I know I can do today, and maybe tomorrow morning, but tomorrow afternoon will definitely be out of the question. We’ll figure it out if you guys work with me. Deal?” Steve threw the car in park and beeped the horn to summon Lucas.

  
By the time Max and the other three boys were squished into the back seat, the excited chattering was at a deafening level. Once the initial shock of Steve being their ride wore off and the obligatory expressions of concern were aired, the conversations turned towards more uplifting topics like the upcoming school year. The noise was piercing Steve’s eardrums and he had to shout to be heard over the hyper thirteen and fourteen year olds. “I’m going to pick you up right here. Right here, you understand me? Don’t be late.”

  
“Geez, okay… _Mom_ ,” Mike sniped, but he said it with a grin.

  
“Watch it, Wheeler or I really will send your mom to pick you up today while the rest of us go get ice cream,” Steve taunted him through his open window.

  
The group of children piled out of the car and Mike slammed the back door shut. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  
“Only one way to find out. Keep going,” Steve was enjoying tormenting him just a little too much. The overhead bell rang, but Mike seemed to ignore it. Steve arched his eyebrows and pointed at the school building.

  
“Sometimes I hate you, Steve,” Mike said before he stalked off to class, Steve’s laughs hitting his back. But what Steve couldn’t see as Mike walked away is that the younger boy was smiling, too.

  
When three o’clock rolled around, Steve was waiting in his car as promised. The longer he sat there, the more he stiffened up. He flexed his feet trying to drive away the twinges in his joints. Droves of students finally exited the building, but The Party were among the last stragglers out the door, as usual. The group of five approached the vehicle as a collective unit.

  
“Hey, Steve…Any chance we can throw our bookbags in the trunk? I don’t know if four of us can fit in the backseat with these things, too,” Lucas thrust his school bag in front of him to illustrate how overflowing it was.

  
Steve winced as he removed himself from the driver’s seat, a familiar sharp ache taking root in his bones, his legs bearing the worst of it. He supported himself on the roof of the BMW as he limped towards the back of the car to open the trunk. While the others were not unmindful of Steve’s struggles at times, it was Dustin who never failed to miss any of the signs that the older teen was wrestling with his ailments. He knew him so well. Dustin gently plucked the keys from Steve’s hand. “I got this. Go sit back down.”

  
Dustin laid a kind hand on his bony shoulder, causing Steve’s cheeks to flame pink. He cast his hazel eyes toward the ground and nodded morosely, reversing direction back towards the driver’s side door. No matter how much reassurance he was given, Steve still felt inordinately bad about every little thing that was done for him because of his ailing body.

  
He tried to cover up his shame by asking the perfunctory questions on the way to the ice cream shop: “How was school? Anything interesting happen?” There were some smartass remarks, but Steve was able to surmise that overall, the day had been good and there was a new girl in class.

  
When the group arrived at the ice cream parlor, Steve reached for his wallet and retrieved a twenty. “Alright, go nuts.”

  
Dustin, who was in his regular seat on the passenger side, blocked his friend’s attempt to give him money with a hand to the forearm. “Two things: First, you don’t have to pay for us _all the time_. We have money today. And aren’t you coming in with us?”

  
“I’d rather not.” Although Steve was learning to not be so insecure about his appearance around The Party and by extension, some of their parents, going out in public was quite another matter – especially with the most recent outward reminder added to all the other physical manifestations of his illness and subsequent treatments. At least in the car, he could keep himself somewhat hidden. Steve glanced in the rearview mirror, catching Will’s eyes for a moment before looking away guiltily, remembering their conversation on the Ferris wheel. Why couldn’t he be as brave as Will?

  
Will intuited this, and didn’t think any less of Steve, knowing just how hard it could be. He offered a compromise, “What about the picnic tables over there? We could get our ice cream and you could sit outside with us. It’s such a nice day!”

  
“Yeah, okay,” Steve agreed. If someone five years younger than him could confront his fears, then he could, too.

  
Will wasn’t aware of Steve’s difficulties a short time ago in the school parking lot, but Dustin surely was. “You guys go on ahead. I’m going to get Steve’s order and be in.”

  
The others scrambled out of the car and rushed into the sweet-smelling shop while Dustin and Steve took a little longer to exit the BMW. Steve stuffed his keys and wallet back into his jean pocket as Dustin encircled his shrinking waist and draped one of the older teen’s arms around his shoulders.

  
“Does it always get this bad, Steve?” Dustin moved slowly to minimize the substantial amount of pain his friend must be feeling, if the grimace on his face was any indication.

  
“No, not always. Just sometimes,” Steve let out an involuntary grunt as the pair negotiated the curb of the sidewalk.

  
Dustin tightened his hold in response to Steve’s audible cry. “Should we not have come here? Is driving too much?”

  
“Nonono, it’s fine,” Steve protested.

  
“No offense, but you don’t look fine.”

  
“Doesn’t matter what I do or don’t do. It’s just kinda there,” Steve practically whined, paraphrasing what he had told Nancy only a short time ago. He had spent so much effort in masking or containing his pain up until now because what was the point of complaining about it when nothing could be done. It would only worry everyone more and besides, it was just something he figured he’d have to learn to live with. But it had reached a crescendo where he was becoming incapable of concealing it anymore, especially during episodes like this. Nancy had extracted from him only a small kernel of the real story, Steve refusing to reveal to her – or anyone else - the excruciating, unbearable degree it could escalate to, although Hopper and Dustin had witnessed it already to some extent. Steve finally fully surrendered to the bitter truth aloud. “It never stops. It always – it always hurts. Gets really bad sometimes, too.”

  
“Jesus, Steve! You never said anything about being in constant pain,” Dustin lightly admonished. He didn’t have to ask why. They had already covered this ground before.

  
The rest of the kids were waiting on Dustin to order, and Max realized that he should have been inside by now, so she diverted her attention from the ice cream flavors spread out before her to the window. The two boys were still not to the picnic tables yet despite having ample time to do so. It quickly became apparent why. “Guys, look,” she commanded.

  
The other three turned to see what the fuss was. Dustin was clearly allowing his frame to be utilized as a walking aid for Steve as the older teen gruelingly hobbled along. “God, it seems like he’s hurting _bad_ ,” Lucas observed.

  
“Why didn’t he say something,” Will whispered in despair.

  
“Maybe he wasn’t feeling like that earlier. Maybe it just happened,” Max speculated unconvincingly.

  
“No, Dustin obviously knew before now. He hung back for a reason,” Mike worked out. “So, when did Dustin figure it out?”

  
The other three conceded that Mike definitely had a point, but how long Dustin knew was obsolete. There was a new dilemma to contend with. “We obviously can’t ask him to drive us all home like this,” Lucas declared.

  
“Knowing Steve, he’ll try anyway and hurt himself even worse. We have to figure something else out,” Will’s heart ached with sympathy for the older boy.

  
“I agree, but we can’t exactly walk home from here. So, what do we do,” Max sighed, wishing she could come up with a constructive solution.

  
“Well, we could see if Steve would take us all back to his house, and our parents could pick us up from there. I mean, he has to get back to his house anyway,” Mike strategized. “The only thing is that we have to make it seem like he’s doing _us_ a favor, and not the other way around or he won’t go for it.”

  
The rest of the group consented to the plan and discussed details as they viewed the depressing scene unfolding outside. Dustin had both of his arms tucked under Steve’s and was lowering him onto the bench with the utmost care as a car pulled into a spot directly behind them.

  
“So, do you want something? My treat for a change,” Dustin patted his pocket.

  
“I don’t know, man. Kinda, but I’d feel bad if I couldn’t eat it,” Steve waffled, still panting from the exertion.

  
“Just try. I’ll finish what you can’t,” Dustin persuaded. Steve reluctantly nodded and opened his mouth to speak. “I know. I know. Vanilla.”

  
Dustin disappeared behind the glass door and went to meet the rest of his friends who immediately started placing their orders as soon as he left the other teenager’s side. He passed by a vaguely familiar looking girl before telling the attendant what he and Steve wanted.

  
As they waited for their ice cream, it hit Dustin where he had seen this girl before. She was the new kid at school. “Hi,” he greeted in a friendly manner. “I’m Dustin.”

  
She introduced herself shyly and tried to make small talk as they awkwardly waited in line. Having seen Dustin outside assisting the feeble looking boy at the table while her mom parked the car, she couldn’t help but be curious, “Who’s the guy you’re with?”

  
It was easier to stretch the truth a tiny bit than to explain how they all fit into each other’s lives. “Oh, that’s my brother. He picked us up from school and brought us here.”

  
“That’s sweet. It’s funny though. You guys don’t really look alike,” she said bluntly, throwing Dustin off a bit.

  
“Yeah, well…sometimes that happens,” Dustin was quickly souring on the direction this was taking.

  
Still trying to make conversation, the girl pressed on, not realizing the chain reaction her innocent inquiries were about to set off. “Is he okay? I mean, he looks kinda sick. What’s wrong with him?”

  
“Didn’t anybody ever teach you it was impolite to comment on how someone _looks_ ,” Dustin angrily grabbed his and Steve’s ice cream off the counter. “And there’s nothing _wrong_ with him! Steve’s perfect!” He stormed out angrily.

  
Will, always the kindest of the bunch, gave her the benefit of the doubt. “I know you probably didn’t mean anything by it, but you gotta understand…Dustin is really defensive over Steve. They’re really close.”

  
“What is he, like his protector or something,” the girl kept unknowingly putting her foot in her mouth.

  
“No, you stupid cow. Steve’s _our_ protector. Get it straight,” Max exclaimed with contempt as she furiously followed Dustin out the door.

  
“Just…stop,” Lucas warned before doing the same. Mike just scoffed and rolled his eyes before joining his friends.

  
“I’m sorry,” she said meekly. “I-“

  
“I know you are, but you really need to tell them that.” Will paused, unsure how much he should disclose, but he didn’t want her to feel worse than she already did. He wanted her to at least understand _why_ his friends reacted the way they did. “Steve’s…well, the thing is… he’s really sick. Like, seriously sick. And the fact that he’s even here today is a really huge deal to all of us, and we don’t want him to be hurt anymore than he already is – by anything or _anyone_. Do you see?”

  
She nodded and choked out another apology. Will displayed a forgiving smile before heading out of the shop to rejoin the others.

  
As Dustin came fuming out of the store, followed in quick succession by Max and Lucas, Steve braced himself on the table and strained to force himself up. “What’s going on, guys? What’s wrong?”

  
Dustin’s expression softened as he caught sight of Steve valiantly attempting to raise himself up to defend his charges if necessary. “Please stay sitting down, Steve. Nothing’s wrong, I promise.”

  
Steve didn’t quite believe him, but there was no immediate danger, so he let it drop. He spooned the cold treat into his mouth. It burned, but not in a pleasant, frosty way. Trying again, Steve shoved another bite into his mouth, but the taste was so bitter and metallic that it was churning his stomach. He gave it a final push towards Dustin. “I’m sorry, man. I can’t.”

  
Dustin merely bobbed his head and combined the rest of the ice cream with his portion without further comment while the other four signaled to one another to put their idea in motion. Dustin hadn’t been privy to the rest of The Party’s plan, but they had all been confident he would catch on quickly.

  
Will was up first. It was for a good cause, but he still felt remorseful using his past to play on Steve’s sympathies. “So, um…Steve? My mom’s working late tonight, and with Jonathan gone and all…well, I don’t like being home alone. Could I please come back to your house with you until my Mom gets off and she could pick me up after?”

  
“Sure,” Steve shrugged. He didn’t mind. “As long as you let her know.”

  
“Actually, if it’s not too much trouble…Erica has a Girl Scout meeting at our house today. I’d rather not be in a house full of girls all afternoon,” Lucas smoothly lied.

  
“What’s wrong with girls, Stalker,” Max goaded, eliciting a panicked look from Lucas. “I’m just kidding, but if it’s possible, I’d like to come, too. I could use all the time away from Neil I can get.”

  
“Sure, but same goes for everyone. Permission first,” Steve instructed. “So, I assume you two are coming back to my house, too,” he directed at Mike and Dustin, who only nodded as everyone was finishing up.

  
Steve slapped five quarters on the table. “Okay, go make those calls. I am not getting my ass chewed out by an upset mother because you couldn’t dial a phone.”

  
Mike slid a quarter off the table. “It wouldn’t be _your_ ass; it would be _ours_ that got chewed out.”

  
“Yeah, all our parents love you, dumbass,” Dustin informed him, taking a quarter. “You haven’t figured that out yet?”

  
Steve watched, bemused, from his vantage point on the picnic table bench as the kids skirmished over who would get to use the phone booth first. At one point, three of them were crammed into the box at once. He could only imagine what that phone conversation sounded like. He supposed he should try to begin the laborious process of standing before they returned, but his body stubbornly battled against him.

  
He managed to turn himself so he was facing outwards, leaning back on his elbows that were propped on the table behind him. Lucas and Will came running up to him, and Steve handed them the keys to the car. “Go ahead and get in. I’ll be there as soon as those three are done.” Will and Lucas shared a discreet look, but did as they were told.

  
It was no shocker that Dustin took the longest on the phone. God, could Claudia Henderson talk. But eventually, the remaining trio made their way over. Steve fought against gravity to get himself upright, yielding little results. A silent communication passed between Dustin and Mike, both wordlessly hooking one arm under each of Steve’s and lifting until he was standing. “Shit,” he unwillingly yelped on the way up. “It’s okay. I’m okay,” he hurriedly reassured them.

  
“Yeah, you sure look it,” Max stood with her hands on her hips. “Are you sure you can drive?”

  
“Well, you sure as shit aren’t,” Steve retorted instantaneously, still latched onto Dustin and Mike more than he wanted to admit. He stumbled along beside the two younger teens, steel spikes being hammered through his bones with every step.

  
Driving home and getting to the front door weren’t nearly as monumental of tasks as he feared, but when Steve finally made it into his house, he flopped down onto the couch face-first, entirely robbed of all remaining energy he had possessed. “You know the drill. Help yourself to anything, just don’t burn the place down,” he mumbled into the cushion.

  
Dustin nudged his shoulder. “Which pills, Steve?”

  
Usually, the pain pill made him more nauseous than anything, but he was desperate. If he took the nausea pill first, maybe it would be tolerable this time. Steve described to Dustin which two to bring to him, and gratefully accepted them along with a glass of water, swallowing them down and shutting his eyes.

  
“Guys, maybe we should go do our homework in another room, so Steve can rest,” Will suggested, taking note of his closed eyes.

  
“No, it’s fine,” Steve assured them. “But you have homework on the first day?”

  
“This is eighth grade, Steve. We’re not babies anymore. This is the bigtime,” Lucas said as if he were enlightening Steve on something top secret that he hadn’t actually lived through before.

  
“Oh, well…excuse me Mr. Bigshot,” Steve cracked one eye open and threw a pillow at Lucas’ head without lifting his face off the couch. “I just thought you’d play one of your campaigns or something.”

  
“We can’t. It’d take too long. Besides, with Nancy gone my little sister is driving me crazy. We can’t get any peace at my house anymore,” Mike groused.

  
“Well, what if you did it here on the weekend? You could order a pizza and play all night for all I care.” The kids just gaped at him. “What? I’m serious. You could just stay here, and Hopper would probably let El come, too. Plus, with you all in the house, it would give him and Mrs. Byers the night off from having to watch over me for a change.”

  
“Steve you’re a genius,” Dustin beamed at him. “But wouldn’t a house full of kids be a lot for you?”

  
“It’s not like you really need me to do anything for you. Half the time you wind up babysitting _me_ these days – like today. This was not the day I meant it to be for you guys. I kinda turned it into a disaster with all my shit, so consider it a redo.”

  
“You can’t think like that, Steve” Dustin delicately rebuked him.

  
“Yeah, it’s not your fault,” Max concurred.

  
“You can’t help it, so stop feeling bad about it,” Lucas added his two cents.

  
“We’re just sorry we can’t do more to help you,” Will regretted. “And for the record, I think it’d be fun if you’re sure you’re okay with it.”

  
Mike realized everyone was looking to him. “Yeah. Yeah, that’d be awesome. I guess we have a new headquarters. Thanks,” he said with genuine gratitude.

  
“No problem. And _for the record_ ,” Steve mirrored Will’s words back to the group, “you all are amazing. Did anyone ever tell you that?”

  
Dustin shared a grin with his friend, intentionally echoing their earlier conversation in the car. “Maybe once or twice, but we can never hear it enough. Thanks!”

  
The pain and nausea meds eventually took the edge off enough for Steve to drift off to sleep while the kids finished up their homework. When each of their rides arrived, instead of waking the teenager, they left him a little note to let them know they were picked up safely, and slipped out quietly. By the time Hopper came home from work, all the kids were gone.

  
Hopper almost didn’t have the heart to wake the evidently exhausted boy, but he had to get him upstairs and hooked up to the machine that delivered the majority of his nutrients. Once that was accomplished, he let him sleep until it was time to leave for chemo the next morning.

  
As the infusion was commencing, Steve relayed the proposed arrangement for the upcoming weekend. “So, then El could hang out, too. And you and Mrs. Byers could both have the night off. So…what do you think?”

  
Hopper trusted Steve, but still had tremendous reservations about leaving him alone with only a house full of minors all night if something were to happen to him. Granted, they were a very capable group of kids, and the police chief was gradually working on not holding the reins so tight around the older teen since they had their blowout. Steve had been right in the fact that he _was_ an adult and should be treated as such, but Hopper was also right on the account that Steve was a _very sick_ adult that required special considerations. “You’re not worried something’s gonna go down when it’s just you and them for the entire night?”

  
“Well, I had a helluva afternoon the other day and they handled it pretty well. They were actually pretty great. And it’s not like I have to do anything for them other than maybe order a pizza. I think it’ll be okay.”

  
Ultimately, it was Steve’s decision – and his house. “Okay, kid. It’s your call. But I’ll still carry my radio with me, and you call me if even the slightest thing goes south. I mean it. Don’t wait for it to be an emergency.”

  
That sounded fair. Steve had no qualms agreeing to those terms and said as much. Hopper fidgeted uncomfortably in the chair, and Steve misinterpreted his unease. “You know, if you have to get to the station you can just pick me up later. I’ll be fine here by myself.”

  
“It’s good to have someone here in case. Thank God Joyce was with you that day. If you had been alone…,” Hopper shuddered at what could’ve been. “That leads me to what I need to talk to you about. Something’s been weighing on me since that day, but I wanted to wait until you were out of the hospital and a bit stronger to have this heavy of a conversation.”

  
Steve gave him a quizzical look, not having the faintest clue as to what Hopper was getting at.

  
They were the only two people in the room besides the staff. Hopper perched his hat on his knee and played with the brim. “The last time you were admitted to the hospital you were conscious…at first. But you passed out in my arms, Steve. If something like that, God forbid, happens again it would be helpful to know what kind of treatment you’d want ahead of time. Have you ever…signed any paperwork like that – expressing your wishes or appointing someone to make medical decisions for you if you’re…incapacitated?”

  
Steve shook his head, unprepared for this line of questioning. “No, I never…I need that? Can’t whoever’s there just decide?”

  
Hopper pursed his lips. “It’s not that simple. If you’re unable to do it, the decision usually falls to the next of kin which would in your case be your parents. If that’s what you want-“

  
“Hell no! Absolutely not,” Steve said emphatically. “I’ll be damned if I’m going to give any more control over my life to them than they already have. They can’t even be bothered to be here!”

  
“That’s what I thought, which is why I’m bringing it up,” Hopper tread carefully, knowing that his parents were a sore subject to Steve, and rightfully so.

  
“So, what do I have to do to make sure that doesn’t happen,” Steve was agitated now.

  
“Well, you would choose someone you’re comfortable with that you believe would carry out your exact wishes regarding treatment, and then sign a document naming them your medical power of attorney. You can also sign a document outlining specifically what all those wishes would be,” Hopper explained.

  
“Yes. Yes, I want to do both,” Steve determined. “Can I choose anyone?”

  
“I believe as long as it’s an adult, then yes.”

  
Steve contemplated this for some length of time. “I don’t know if I even have a right to ask this, but…it could be Mrs. Byers or…you?”

  
Hopper put a hand up in the air. “I wasn’t angling for that to be the case, kid. Don’t think because I brought this up to you that I think it should be me.”

  
“I didn’t think that at all. But you’re right – it’s not a fair thing to ask of either one of you. You’re not my parents and I shouldn’t be your responsibility,” Steve dropped his head despondently.

  
“That’s not what I’m saying at all, either. This isn’t about me. This isn’t about Joyce. Or your parents. It’s about _you_. What does _Steve_ want,” Hopper warmly placed a strong, calloused hand on the teenager’s shoulder.

  
“ _You!_ You and Mrs. Byers are who I want. You’re the only two adults that have ever treated me like I’m not just a tax write off or a total failure. That have actually _listened_ to me and _cared_ what happened to me. Who I actually believe have my best interests in mind instead of their own agenda. You’ve both _been here_. That – _that_ is what I want,” Steve passionately blurted out.

  
“Okay, kid. I hear you loud and clear,” Hopper acknowledged him.

  
“So, I mean, would you be willing,” Steve timidly asked.

  
“I’m honored that you think enough of me to trust me with something like that. And I’m pretty sure I can speak for Joyce, too when I say that we’ll both do whatever you need us to.” Hopper moved his hand from Steve’s shoulder and clasped the back of his neck in a fatherly gesture. “I’m just sorry this was something I even had to bring up to you.”

  
“Me too. But I’m glad you did. If you hadn’t said something and something _did_ happen to me, leaving my parents to make the decisions? I’d come back and haunt your ass,” Steve joked.

  
“Kid, if that were the case, you’d have my permission to go full Poltergeist on me,” Hopper let out a brief chuckle, but grew serious once again. “We’ll get this taken care of as soon as you’re ready, alright?”

  
“Maybe the beginning of next week? Once I’ve recovered from this cycle a bit?” Steve glared at the bags swinging from the pole, knowing what the next couple of days would likely bring.

  
“Sounds like a plan, kid.”

  
“And, Hop? Thank you,” Steve said sincerely, smiling. Hopper returned it.

  
As it turned out, Steve had accurately predicted how miserable the next couple of days would be for him. For the majority of that time, Hopper had stayed with him which is how he wound up drawing weekend duty at the station so early on a Saturday morning. He would drop El by this afternoon for the sleepover, but in the meantime, Dustin had arrived earlier than the others to keep Steve company while the police chief was working.

  
Steve silenced the incessant beeping from the machine that had awoken him with the press of a button. He shoved a pillow over his head, not ready to wake up yet, but knowing he had to get up to flush out the tube before the sticky, sweet solution congealed in there, completely obstructing it and rendering it useless. He fumbled with the supplies by his bed as someone rapped lightly on his door. “You can come in.”

  
Dustin peeked his head around the door. “Oh good, you’re up. I heard the beeping and wanted to make sure.”

  
“Not by choice,” Steve grumbled, waving a dismissive hand at the feeding apparatus.

  
“You can’t just let it go and deal with it when you’re ready to get up,” Dustin wondered.

  
Steve shook his head, the tail of the tube swaying with the movement. “No, if it sits too long it’ll get clogged and then it would have to be replaced. No thanks. I’d rather lose a little sleep.”

  
“I get that.” Dustin examined the equipment strewn about the bedside. “So, what do you have to do? Can I help?”

  
Steve didn’t see why not. It wasn’t overly complicated and having gone through the steps in the hospital, he hadn’t _really_ needed a home health nurse to show him again, but it was supposedly a requirement. If he could be taught, surely his gifted friend could, too. “Okay, but wash your hands first.”

  
Dustin did as he was told and sat beside Steve on the bed when he was finished. “Okay, so it’s easiest to get the water ready first. Put the syringe in the bowl and just pull back on the plunger until it’s full,” Steve guided him. He separated the tip from the connection point, showing Dustin how to insert the syringe into the piece attached to him. “Now just push, but please go slow. If it goes in too fast, I’ll wind up throwing it up.”

  
“Like this?” Dustin sounded uncharacteristically unsure of himself as he depressed the plunger tentatively. He kept going until all the liquid had vanished down the tube.

  
“Yep, you got it. Good job,” Steve ruffled Dustin’s hair through his ever-present hat, and then recapped the end before disposing of the used setup. “Now scram, nerd. I’m gonna take a shower before all the other dipshits get here. And Dustin? Thanks.”

  
Dustin’s chest puffed up with pride. If he could ease the burden of Steve’s illness off of him for even a second, then he would learn any new skill he could to do so. Dustin exited the bedroom, but stayed nearby in the hallway just in case. Too many bad things had befallen his friend this past summer, and there were a number of others that could go wrong. Steve could faint or he could slip in the shower. He could start bleeding or be overwhelmed with pain. Once Dustin heard the stream of water cease and felt it was safe, he left his post and went downstairs to wait.

  
By mid-afternoon everyone had arrived, and brought provisions to make fruit smoothies for some odd reason. But Steve figured it could be worse and willingly dug out the blender. He left them to it, absentmindedly flipping through the channels until loud, frantic voices carried into the room.

  
“What are you doing? You can’t do it like that!”

  
“Sure, you can.”

  
“You have to put the lid on. Wait-“

  
The noisy whir of the blender cut off the last voice that belonged to Lucas.

  
“Sonuvabitch!” That was Dustin. “Whatever you do Steve, do _not_ come in here. We got it covered, buddy.”

  
Steve was already on the threshold of the doorway, afraid of what he might discover. “What the hell are you shitheads doing in – Oh my God!”

  
Milk, ice cream, and God knows what else was sprayed around the kitchen. A pale, sticky substance ran down the walls and dripped steadily from the ceiling. Most of the inhabitants of the kitchen were frozen in disbelief at the mess created except Dustin who was trying to prevent his friend from exploding. “Don’t worry about it, buddy. We’ll clean it up, won’t we guys? Where’s the cleaning supplies? And a stepladder?”

  
“If you think I’m gonna let any of you jackasses climb a ladder after _this_ , you must be fucking crazy. _Move_ ,” Steve shoved Dustin out of the way and opened the closet to remove the stepladder. He grabbed some rags and started climbing once it was set up.

  
Bits of fruit and liquid rained down on him in a viscous goo as Steve scrubbed furiously at the ceiling. If it dried up there it would be impossible to get off. A large dollop of melted ice cream dropped onto his head, soaking into the thin cotton beanie. “Goddamn it,” he cried, shaking his head like a dog in reaction to the coldness. Wrong move. The whiplash swiveling motion induced a sense of vertigo, and he stumbled a bit before grabbing onto the handle at the last second to stabilize himself.

  
Mike dashed forward to catch the older teen, but the fall was narrowly avoided by Steve’s quick reflexes. The dark-haired boy wasn’t going to let the opportunity for disaster arise again. “Steve! Steve, please get down. We’re the jerks who did this. We’ll make it right. C’mon.”

  
Normally, Steve would object to the younger kids taking charge. He _was_ the adult, after all. But the near miss had sent him reeling and reasoning prevailed. He hadn’t realized that his balance had gotten _that_ _bad_. The last thing he needed was a destroyed kitchen _and_ yet another trip to hospital. “Yeah, okay. I’m gonna go get changed and washed up.”

  
Steve left the room and hauled himself up the stairs. He peeled off his hat, tossing it in the hamper and going to rinse his face. Drying off the water, he almost ran into El as he exited the bathroom. Her sudden appearance hadn’t allowed him enough time to cover his bald head, and he was more than a little embarrassed. “Jesus, you scared me. Not to sound rude, but you should probably knock first. I was about to get changed.”

  
El wasn’t being impolite on purpose. There were certain societal courtesies that she was still learning. Regardless of Steve’s statement on privacy, she was not deterred from her original mission, decidedly ignoring the fact he was trying to get to his pile of hats on the dresser behind her. The girl tugged lightly on Steve’s wrist. “Sit.”

  
Dumbfounded by both her presence in his bedroom and her possible intentions, he did as he was told. After tuning the stereo on the desk to static, El placed herself next to him on the bed and produced a blindfold that she secured around her eyes. She covered the upper half of Steve’s face with one hand and held his wrist with the other. “Close your eyes.”

  
At first, there was an expansive blackness that revealed nothing. It was what one would see when merely closing one’s eyes. Eerily, a small girl in a pink dress gradually appeared as a speck in the distance that Steve was inexplicably lured to. As he neared the figure, he could see that it was a younger version of Eleven – with a much shorter haircut. Steve was abruptly ripped back out of the blackness and looking into the searching eyes of the younger girl. “Understand?”

  
Steve was utterly befuddled. “Wha- I don’t – Was that you?” El nodded solemnly. “When?”

  
“First time in Hawkins. After the lab. Papa shaved. Like you.” El tapped her own head and then lightly skimmed Steve’s scalp with her fingertips. “I understand.”

  
Steve drew in a sharp intake of breath as she gave him the slightest of smiles. He couldn’t quite grasp what unique qualities these kids possessed that he could be so irate at them for doing something so stupid one minute, and his heart overflowing from their sensitivity and consideration of him the next. “I guess – I guess you do.”

  
“Grows back,” El twisted a finger through her curls.

  
“I know,” Steve said unconvincingly while reaching for another hat.

  
El halted his arm with her touch. “Don’t need to cover. We don’t care.”

  
“I know that, too,” Steve’s voice cracked. “It just – it um, just makes me feel better. Does that make sense?”

  
El frowned, disappointed that she couldn’t help persuade the boy, who had been so accepting of all their strangeness and everything that accompanied it, to be as accepting of himself. She shook her head in the affirmative anyway. “Okay,” she got up and left the bedroom without another word, rejoining the others.

  
The kids weren’t finished with their cleaning excursion until almost dinnertime. The kitchen had been scoured so thoroughly that it was virtually sparkling, leaving Steve actually kind of impressed. There was almost no trace the room had ever been used, let alone the setting for a culinary catastrophe.

  
The smoothies may have been a disaster, but the pizza arrived soon after to quell their hunger. The kids were absolutely ravenous after their hard labor. It smelled wonderful and even Steve was tempted to indulge in a piece from the boxes strewn about the living room floor and coffee table.

  
Steve decided, what the hell? If it seemed appetizing to him, he should probably make the effort. He’d never get the damn tube out if he didn’t. Steve snatched a slice from its cardboard prison and chewed thoroughly before swallowing to give his stomach a chance to adjust to the first solid food it’d had in days.

  
The kids tried to be inconspicuous, nudging each other in the ribs to discreetly draw one another’s attention to the welcome sight of Steve eating. It delighted them to no end and lifted some of the guilt from earlier. They happily set up the D&D game as their hands stuffed the greasy pie into their mouths.

  
Steve lazed on the couch, contemplating another slice after the first one had settled well enough. He finally went for it, content to watch the sextet of children in their imaginary world of orcs and elves and rogues and whatever else they conjured up, even though he was completely lost.

  
At one point, Dustin decided they should make some microwave popcorn, but he misjudged the correct amount of time needed to pop the kernels. The smell of burnt popcorn overpowered the whole house and Steve’s gag reflex was triggered violently. It was already on high alert with the tube running down and resting against the back of his throat, so the least little thing set him off. He knew he wasn’t going to make it, but he still had to try.

  
Steve’s hand flying to his mouth and desperately clapping over it sent Max racing to the kitchen. She was able to retrieve the trash can and slide it under Steve’s bent over form a split second before dinner came spewing from his mouth. Max turned her head away from the disgusting sight. It was not like he could help it, but witnessing someone puke was on the list of her least favorite things.

  
Dustin shot into the room as Steve collapsed to his knees and hung his head even further over the bin, “What’s going on?”

  
“Open a window or turn on the fan, dude. I think the smell got to him. It’s getting to _me_ ,” Lucas held his nose.

  
“Oh no. Oh shit. Sorry, buddy. I wasn’t thinking,” Dustin knelt beside Steve and rubbed his back as he continued to heave for several minutes while Mike and Lucas cracked a few windows and turned on a ceiling fan. Steve gave a few additional weak coughs before spitting. “Do you think you’re done for a minute? You wanna move to the bathroom?”

  
Steve weakly nodded his head as Dustin helped him to his feet. The pair shuffled to the adjoining bathroom. It was only a half bath, but still spacious enough for both of them to sit on the floor, Steve positioned next to the toilet with his back supported by the wall.

  
“Do you want me to get one of your pills? Would that help?” Dustin never got a response to his questions because before Steve ever had a chance, he was experiencing round two. “I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”

  
Steve patted him on the knee to dispel that notion, but it was rather unconvincing with his head perched precariously over the toilet bowl. The continued spasms that racked his body coupled with his earlier cleaning exploits and multiple trips up the stairs today were exponentially heightening the severe ache pulsating from deep within his battered bones.

  
The contractions of his stomach were finally subsiding, and Steve leaned back against the wall to catch his breath. It was awhile before he attempted to get off the floor, tightly hanging on to the sink to boost himself. Two separate lightning bolts shot up his legs and he nearly crumpled back to the ground. Dustin’s vice-like grip was the only thing that saved him.

  
With Dustin’s aid, he tottered back to the couch with all the grace of a toddler learning to walk. Steve’s mouth unwittingly contorted with every jolting footstep, reminding his friends of the other day outside the ice cream parlor. The kids knew they were correct in their conclusions, and their faces reflected varying degrees of sadness at the older teenager’s plight. Steve realized that he had probably been found out and it was likely futile to carry on pretending, but he was determined to not let this night be ruined, too. He didn’t want his illness to overshadow every single thing in their lives like it had his. Steve carefully schooled his expression and in a tight, controlled voice said, “Everything’s fine. I feel better now.”

  
“Uh-huh,” Mike uttered doubtfully, sharing a look with Dustin who slipped out of sight and up the stairs.

  
“No, really. Continue being wizards or whatever,” Steve flapped a hand at the game board. “It’s barely eight o’clock. Play until you crash out on the floor for all I care.”

  
“You too? Sleep down here,” El inquired.

  
Dustin came barreling back with a glass of water and a closed fist. “No, he’d probably sleep better in his bed. And here – take these, Steve.”

  
“I’m fine, Dustin. I swear. I don’t need them,” Steve denied before he addressed El. “And sure, I’ll sleep down here. I’ve already picked my spot, so...”

  
“Steve, take the damn pills,” Dustin left no room for argument. He didn’t know who Steve thought he was fooling. The misery was plainly evident in every crease in his brow and each calculated movement of his body, despite his gallant efforts to conceal it. His friend may be stubborn to a fault, but Dustin wasn’t going to let him suffer because of it. Steve reluctantly capitulated and chased the medication down with a swallow of water. “And what about the stuff you have to do at night? Don’t you have to be upstairs for that?”

  
Steve shrugged. “I can just bring it down here. It’s on wheels, so it’s not like it isn’t meant to be moved. Now get back to your damn game already and quit fussing over me. I’m _good!_ ”

  
The kids were a couple hours into their campaign and Steve lay rigid on the couch the whole time, not daring to shift even an inch. Every change in position caused a renewed stabbing sensation like a thousand knives were impaling his bones at once. The pills were doing very little to alleviate his discomfort. Staying completely still was his only respite.

  
Will and Mike used the excuse of grabbing everyone a drink to get out of the room and talk away from everyone else. Steve’s statue-like presence was disconcerting. “Steve hasn’t moved a muscle in a long time. Do you think the pills are even working,” Will asked, troubled.

  
Mike slammed a can of Coke down on the counter. “No! But if you ask him, he’ll just say that they are and that he’s ‘fine’. I don’t get why he’s lying about it so much!”

  
Will removed a couple more cans of soda from the refrigerator. “He’s probably just protecting us. You know, not wanting us to worry and stuff.”

  
“We’re going to do that anyway, so what’s the point. It’s just hurting him more,” Mike vocalized his frustration. “Just standing by and not being able to do anything really sucks!”

  
“Yeah, it does. But I think we are actually doing _something_ because at least he isn’t alone. I mean, sometimes there was nothing you guys could really do for me, but just being there helped,” Will acknowledged before scooping up a couple of the drinks and going back into the living room.

  
“Yeah,” Mike followed him, noticing that the couch was no longer occupied. “Where’s Steve?”

  
“On his way upstairs to bring down his equipment. I tried to help him, but he insisted on doing it alone like an idiot. I’m giving him five minutes, and if he’s not back I’m going after him,” Dustin’s firm statement was punctuated by a resounding thump, succeeded by several smaller ones. He darted from his place on the floor and discovered the origins of the sounds. “Shit! Shit! Shit!”

  
Steve was using his hands and knees in a poor attempt to maneuver himself up the stairs, grunting quietly with each jarring movement. He initially seemed unaware of the younger boy’s presence, too concentrated on his failing endeavor.

  
Dustin’s heart nose-dived into his stomach. “What happened? Did you fall? Are you hurt,” he rapidly fired off questions while hastily running to his friend’s side.

  
Steve’s breaths came out in little pants as he balanced on his elbows. “No. No. I – I can’t – I couldn’t-“

  
“Breathe, Steve. Just breathe,” Dustin very carefully guided his friend until he was turned around and solidly sitting on a step. He kept one arm behind Steve’s shoulders, supporting the older boy as he slumped against him. “Do you think you can stand up and get upstairs?”

  
Steve clutched at the railing with both hands, straining to pull himself upright. When his weight fully transferred to his already weak and trembling legs, he couldn’t restrain his shriek as an explosion of shooting pains coursed through them. “I – I can’t. It’s too much.”

  
“What’s too much, Steve?”

  
“The pain. It’s too much,” Steve moaned as he sunk back down onto the staircase, resting his head on his knees and rocking as if he could move away from the it somehow. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  
“Don’t be ridiculous, Steve. What are you even sorry for,” the younger teen slipped his arm back around Steve and pulled until his head rested against Dustin’s shoulder as the older boy hiccuped from the cascading tears. “Shhh, it’s okay, buddy. You’re gonna be okay. Shhh.”

  
“I’m so sorry,” Steve whispered over and over. “I tried to hold it in. I did. Really.” He had to pause as a new onslaught of tears left him gulping for air and making it difficult to form words. “Just wanted you…good time…not wreck it…all my bullshit. You should be friends…not nurses. Pathetic.”

  
Dustin was able to piece together the partially constructed sentences and decipher the meaning. It tore his heart into tiny pieces that Steve thought he should have control over what was happening and be able to suppress every ugly aspect of his disease by sheer will so as not to inconvenience or upset them. “Steve, part of being a good friend is also being a nurse, a teacher, a brother, or just about any noun you can come up with. That’s what being a friend is, remember? Sure, it’s great when everyone’s laughing and having a good time and stuff, but it’s also being there when things are a big pile of shit.”

  
Steve inhaled and exhaled shakily. “I know. I do. I’m still sorry, though. It just hurts so bad, Dusty. I can’t stand it sometimes,” he confessed almost inaudibly through the continued sobs.

  
The others had worriedly watched the unfolding scene from the confines of the hallway. Dustin had stopped them there with a brief hand gesture. “I know, buddy, but we’re gonna help you, alright? Here’s what we’re gonna do. Tell me what all we need to bring down, and we’ll go get it while you take a breather, okay? Then we’ll get you back to the couch and get you comfortable.”

  
Steve was too blinded by the throbbing in his joints to argue, allowing his friend to take charge. Dustin waved the others over and they listened intently as he rattled off the supplies that were needed one by one. Dustin included some extra pillows and blankets, as well as Steve’s pills on that list. He may not be able to take them just yet, but Dustin was going to make sure he had them as soon as it was time.

  
The kids very carefully circumvented Steve as they procured the items, not wishing to cause any more misery to the already distressed teen. They worked quickly, Will and Max creating a soft nest of pillows and blankets on the couch to hopefully reduce the pressure on Steve’s body from the hard angles of the furniture, and therefore decreasing his level of discomfort.

  
Mike, Lucas, and El grouped the rest of the supplies around the coffee table in the living room while Dustin remained by Steve, consoling and soothing him when another wave of pain crashed into him.

  
Once everything was situated, the focus shifted to getting Steve from the staircase back to the couch. Navigating the steps on his feet didn’t seem to be a viable option so it was suggested that Steve scoot himself down on his butt one step at a time until he got both feet on the landing. Easier said than done. He planted a hand on either side of his waist and propelled himself forward with his arms as much as he could. Steve landed hard on the step below and choked back a cry. He barely managed to reposition his legs to repeat the motion.

  
Steve emitted a sharp gasp each time he forcefully came down upon the next step, intensely jostling his already abused frame. By the time he reached the bottom he sagged against the banister, practically hugging it in relief as he whimpered softly.

  
The younger teens stood helplessly by, barely able to mute their sniffles and hold back the moisture collecting in their own eyes at their friend’s torment. Steve had been bludgeoned by Billy, knocked unconscious, and still led them safely through the tunnels of Hell that were crawling with a sea of Demodogs without one complaint about his physical state. Witnessing the breakdown of his defenses so drastically could only mean he was experiencing a level of pain that was incomprehensible to them.

  
Torn between wanting to let Steve collect himself and wanting to relieve his pain as soon as possible, Dustin ultimately chose the latter. He had Steve shift to the center of the stair while he got on one side and Mike got on the other, securing one of the older teen’s arms over each of their shoulders. Dustin held onto Steve’s hand to keep his arm in place and encircled his slim waist with the other while Mike mirrored his actions on the opposite side. “Okay, we go on three. One, two, three.”

  
Steve gave a strangled yelp as the younger boys lifted, taking most of his weight. They matched their pace to Steve’s who was only able to take three short steps before his knees started to buckle. “I can’t. I can’t,” Steve cried in anguish.

  
“Yes, you can, Steve,” Mike encouraged. “El, can you help?”

  
She shook her head sadly. “Too powerful. It’ll make it worse.”

  
“Shit, dude. You can do it, buddy. C’mon. That’s it,” Dustin cheered him on. “You’re doing it.”

  
They only made it a few more steps into the hallway before nearly collapsing again. “Please…stop. I can’t…It hurts so bad. No more,” Steve wailed pitifully.

  
“Guys, maybe we should radio Hopper. Steve can’t take anymore,” Will chewed his lip anxiously, his words cracking with emotion at the end.

  
“Yeah,” Max agreed.

  
“No,” Steve ground out through gritted teeth with renewed strength at the mention of the police chief. “No Hopper. Night- night off. I’ll – I’ll do it.”

  
Dustin and Mike readjusted their grip, continuing to support Steve as he obstinately pressed on. Guttural noises that sounded suspiciously like sobs escaped from his throat in time with every step. It was a painstakingly slow process, but eventually the trio made it to their goal and the teen was lowered as gently as possible onto the mound of pillows.

  
Steve was as white as a ghost and his skin glistened with perspiration as his upper body rested listlessly against the plush squares. He struggled to raise his lower half up onto the furniture, but was unable to accomplish that small task on his own. Dustin swung his legs onto the couch for him. That simple action detonated a million tiny bombs within his bones that left him writhing in absolute agony. “Please…no more,” his low keening plea was muffled by the surrounding pillows. “Please make it stop. Make it stop,” he muttered repeatedly, starting to slip into incoherence from the dizzying pain.

  
“How long until his next dose of pain medicine,” Lucas was obviously rattled by his terrified tone.

  
Dustin looked at his watch. “Damn. Another thirty minutes. And we got to get him hooked up to the feedings. I know how to flush it, but not how to hook up the actual feeding which means Steve will either have to do it, or guide one of us through it.”

  
“Maybe we try to do that now. He doesn’t seem too with it. If we wait much longer…,” Lucas smartly observed.

  
Steve’s eyes _were indeed_ becoming less and less focused. Lucas was right. “Hey Steve, do you think you can show me how to hook up the tube feeding or do you want to do it yourself?”

  
There was no way Steve could stand right now to assemble the setup, so he used all the willpower he could conjure to walk Dustin patiently through each step, having to pause fairly frequently to ride another wave of pain. The younger boy actually did a great job, remembering what he had learned only this morning. Steve showed Dustin how to program the machine and which button meant ‘start’. Together, they got the machine running successfully which was indicated by the constant whirring noise it put out as it delivered the nutrients to Steve’s stomach via the tube.

  
By the time all that was accomplished, Steve was able to have another dose of pain meds. Dustin shook some out of the bottle and assisted his friend in taking them. Even holding a glass or raising his arms to his mouth was excruciating, so Dustin placed the pills in his mouth for him and tipped the glass so he could get some water to wash them down.

  
Steve tried so hard to wait out the pain meds, hoping they made more of a dent this time, but nothing was working. Nothing at all. And the sustained severity of his pain was unbearable. All he could do was weep uncontrollably, muttering, “It’s hurts. Make it stop,” over and over like a broken mantra.

  
“Is there anything else, _anything at all_ , we can do to help, Steve?” All the kids were distraught and utterly heart-broken at Steve’s debilitated state and didn’t really expect him to answer Dustin’s desperate question.

  
“Play your game,” Steve croaked out between sobs.

  
“What?”

  
“Distraction…helps. TV. Music. Anything. Game. Please,” he squeezed out with some difficulty.

  
The kids thought they understood and returned to their game that seemed so trivial now, for Steve’s sake. It would be hard to get back into it after such an emotionally charged evening, but the kids would gladly fulfill the boy’s every request if there was any hope at all of giving him some relief.

  
Dustin sat in front of Steve on the floor, keeping one of his fists clasped around Steve’s limp hand. The other kids surrounded the coffee table preparing to dive back into their new campaign. Steve listened as Mike presented his part as the Dungeon Master, and he was sort of lethargically following along. Steve began gradually slipping into a fugue-like haze, lulled by the steady hum of familiar voices, his whole being drained and sapped from the constant, unrelenting pain.

  
It was the wee hours of the morning, right before the sun came up that they all finally fell asleep. Steve had drifted off first, the combination of the pain itself and the meds wearing his poor body out. But he awoke multiple times from the crushing discomfort he was still experiencing. The kids continued playing their game through the night, although it wasn’t that they wanted to finish so badly, but to ensure they were readily available for Steve and whatever he may need in the night.

  
As they were winding down their game before dawn, Dustin still kept one of his hands in Steve’s. Whenever he was having a particularly bad surge of pain, Steve squeezed Dustin’s hand, slowly releasing it once the wave had passed. He even did that sometimes in his sleep, as he was drifting in and out of consciousness.

  
As the grey light filtered in through the large window, the last of the group had fallen asleep. All of them were softly snoring in the hushed morn as the sun grew brighter. The peaceful moment was destroyed by the shrill ringing of a phone. It rang again. Dustin scrambled up to get it, not wanting anyone else to wake up, especially Steve. “Hello. Harrington residence. This is Dustin, who’s this? No, he’s sleeping right now. May I take message? I already told you, Steve had a bad night last night. He really needs his rest.”

  
Dustin kept his volume low so as not to disturb anyone else, but the person on the line was insistent and wasn’t giving him a choice anymore. With a frustrated sigh he went to, very reluctantly, wake up his friend.

  
“Steve,” Dustin whispered with a soft shake to his shoulder. “Hey Steve, you got a phone call. Sorry to wake you up, but they won’t take no for answer and they said it was important.”

  
Steve felt like he’d been run over by a truck – or a pack of Demodogs. It took a few more tries, but he was finally able to process what Dustin was saying to him in his sleep-deprived brain. “Who’s they?”

  
Dustin hesitated, knowing how unhappy it would make Steve and not wanting to deliver such news – especially after last night and so early in the morning. “It’s your parents, Steve.”

  
“Aw shit!”


	8. Call My Aunt Marie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve confronts his parents and receives some good news, but is he out of the woods?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> II know this part took a little longer, but hopefully the wait is worth it. No real TW. As always, happy reading and enjoy!

Hopper had been in the middle of some of the most ludicrous, repugnant, and downright strange family dynamics as Chief of Police, but sitting across from the Harringtons at their sprawling, pristine dining room table might just have topped that dishonorable list.

  
The room was silent and cold, and everything felt like it belonged to a museum exhibit – even the people within it. Not a thing was to be touched, just studied and aloofly regarded. The Harringtons extended the same attitude towards their son as was given to the objects displayed around them. Hopper had yet to see either one of them embrace the boy, or simply give a loving touch of any sort to him the entire week they’d been in town. It was possible that such gestures were given in private, but he highly doubted it.

  
The dinner elaborately prepared was among the finest money could buy, but Hopper could suddenly relate to Steve’s diminished appetite. The filet mignon was no better than rubber in his mouth and sat like lead in his gut once he managed to get it down.

  
Steve cut his steak into tiny pieces and took minuscule bites to give the illusion of eating, but it still wasn’t enough to appease his mother. “Steven dear, why are you pushing the food around on your plate instead of eating it?”

  
“I’ve never known you to be such a picky eater, _son_. Your mother worked very hard to fix this nice meal for you and our guest. The least you can do is show some appreciation by enjoying it.” The emphasis his father placed on ‘son’ suggested it was not used as the typical term of endearment, but had rather a more demeaning connotation. Hopper had to restrain himself from jumping to the boy’s defense. Interference would only make his father come down harder on Steve.

  
Rather than argue which would be futile, Steve continued to force feed himself until Hopper could literally see the greenish tint creeping across the teenager’s skin. In the hopes of giving Steve a break from their scrutiny, Hopper pulled the attention onto himself. “Thank you for having me. This food is really good.” He shoveled a large helping of au gratin potatoes into his mouth, a piece of which stuck to his moustache.

  
“Yes, well…it seems you’ve been quite helpful to our Steven during his _misfortune_ ,” Mrs. Harrington’s nose wrinkled as if she caught a whiff of something unpleasant. “We would like to repay you.”

  
“Indeed. We’re aware Steven has had some, shall we say, _difficulties_ lately, and rather than burden you further, we’ve taken it upon ourselves to begin a search for an aide of sorts for the boy. But,” Mr. Harrington produced a checkbook and uncapped a fountain pen, “we would like to reimburse you for your valuable time and services, _Sheriff_.”

  
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Steve is _not a burden_! He’s a great kid. We –,” Steve’s eyes widened in panic and he shook his head sharply. Hopper wasn’t sure exactly what it meant, but he picked up on the cue. “ _I_ am happy to do it. I wish the circumstances were different, of course, but Steve here helps me out, too. I work a lot and he looks after the kids – my daughter for me.”

  
“You’re a _nanny_ , Steven? A _babysitter_ of all things? _Really_ ,” Mrs. Harrington sneered contemptuously.

  
“May I please be excused,” Steve urgently requested. Even if he had the inclination, he didn’t have time to answer his mother’s condescending questions because if he stayed in his seat much longer, everyone would see the meal for a second time.

  
“We’re in the middle of dinner –“ Mr. Harrington objected.

  
“I’d let him go if I were you,” Hopper interrupted the father brusquely.

  
Steve bolted from the table without being able to wait for a formal reply any longer, disappearing around the corner and slamming the door in his haste. When he returned more than a few minutes later, he was notably paler but a lot less green. “Are you okay there, kid,” Hopper kindly asked. He received a weak smile of reassurance in response.

  
“What was that all about,” Mr. Harrington acted put-out by the commotion. He then harrumphed. “Oh, I see. Perhaps you should go make yourself presentable again, Steven. You seemed to have…soiled your shirt.”

  
Steve cast his gaze downward, and sure enough, there was a fleck of vomit just below the collar. With a resigned sigh he rose and began the trek up the stairs.

  
The footsteps that came from the other side of the wall were uneven and halting. Steve’s parents continued on with their meal, ignoring the loud and irregular thuds. Hopper’s jaw slackened in disbelief. He couldn’t tell if they were really that oblivious or just that unfeeling, but when a truncated cry rang out, the policeman could stand it no longer. “I’m going to give Steve a hand up the stairs.”

  
“Oh, let him go. He’s always been a bit dramatic. I’m sure he’s fine,” Mr. Harrington dismissed.

  
“What? You’re kidding, right? Steve isn’t being _dramatic_. He’s been having issues with pain from the _four months_ of treatment he’s been through. You know, for that pesky little thing he has. What’s it called again? Oh yeah. Cancer!” The parents wore blank faces and Hopper knew he was wasting his breath. “You know what? Screw it,” he threw the cloth napkin on the table and left to assist Steve.

  
Steve was standing mid-way up the staircase, unmoving. “Just trying to catch my breath, Chief.”

  
“Sure, you are.” Steve had eventually come clean to him about the night the kids spent with him and how much worse the pain had become. They had gotten him some stronger pain medicine, but it only helped sometimes. Stairs continued to be one of the many triggers for Steve’s pain. Hopper allowed himself to be leaned on, hoping the whole way up that Steve hadn’t overheard any of the exchange with his parents. The pair finally made it to the top landing. “Go get on a new shirt. I’ll wait here for you.”

  
A phone rang shrilly in the background as Steve emerged from his bedroom dressed in a fresh button-down oxford. He gave the police chief a sheepish glance. “I’m sorry about all this.” So, he had probably heard what was said, after all.

  
“No. See, you don’t get to do that.” Hopper flung an arm over Steve’s scrawny shoulders. “Don’t you dare apologize for other people. I just…are you sure you’re good here? You can always come and stay with me. Or Joyce.”

  
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure, but thank you. It’s only one more day and then they’ll be gone until at least Christmas,” Steve latched onto the banister for support on his descent.

  
“Well, the offer’s always there if you need it,” Steve seemed to have an easier time of it on the way down, but Hopper stuck close to the teenager’s side until they safely reached the bottom.

  
Rounding the corner, the pair came face to face with an irate Mr. Harrington. “Do you care to explain to me why our lawyer is calling my house and asking for _you_ , Steven? What kind of trouble are you in? Is that why you’ve been spending so much time with the Sheriff? What did you do?”

  
“ _Nothing!_ I didn’t do anything, Dad,” Steve cried defensively. “Why do you always assume the worst of me?”

  
“You have a less than stellar track record as I’m sure you’re well aware, Steven. While your friends are carving out their bright futures in college, you’re here languishing away. And you cannot use your current circumstance as an excuse. Your grades have been poor for quite some time and you got rejected by all the colleges you applied to before your ‘circumstance’ cropped up,” Mr. Harrington berated his son.

  
“It’s not an excuse! Even if I had gotten in somewhere, I couldn’t have gone to college now anyway. My ‘current circumstance’ is cancer, Dad. Say it! Goddamn _cancer_!” Steve’s voice was thick with emotion. He was embarrassed to be dressed down in front of Hopper. He was hurt that his parents were more concerned about his education than his health. But most of all, he was just tired…of all of it.

  
“You watch your language, young man,” Mr. Harrington admonished. “And whatever you’d like to call it, it still doesn’t change the fact that you’ve been slacking off for some time now.”

  
“That’s enough,” Hopper bellowed. “The last thing Steve needs right now is any more stress. He’s been through a lot these last few months. In fact, did either one of you bother to ask _why_ your son has a tube shoved up his nose or _why_ he had to run away from the dinner table tonight?” He looked between the two elder Harringtons who said nothing. “That’s what I thought. Let me clue you in on some other things you don’t know. This kid…this _man_ right here is one of the most courageous, strongest, most heroic people I’ve ever come across. He’s saved _my_ life, my _daughter’s_ , and all the other kids’. Now it’s time to fight for _his_. His _life_ is worth so much more than a piece of paper.”

  
“Hop-,” Steve interrupted without any real conviction behind it, too overcome by the tears beginning to collect and clump his remaining eyelashes together.

  
“No, Steve. Your parents need to hear me, and hear me good,” Hopper turned his anger back towards the Harringtons. “Steve has been through _absolute hell_ these past few months, and the people that are supposed to love and care for him haven’t _been here_. He’s been making decisions and signing consents and paperwork that no _eighteen year old_ should _ever_ have to. He collapsed in my arms – _unconscious_ \- and if he hadn’t been able to tell us his wishes right before he…well, the hospital would’ve tried to reach you. Would you have been reachable,” Hopper accused, already knowing the answer.

  
“That’s hard to say. My job takes me all over. Steven knows this,” Mr. Harrington tried to justify their absence.

  
“Yeah, Dad. I do. That’s why the lawyer was contacting me. He’s drawing up paperwork for me to sign in case something happens to me. I need someone that’s _here_ to be able to make those decisions if I can’t. You’ve always told me to be more responsible, so I’m being more responsible,” Steve threw his dad’s words back into his face.

  
“And who, pray tell, might that be?”

  
Steve hesitated. He knew when he revealed the two people he had chosen that it would cause an uproar of even bigger proportions, although it did give him a sick sort of satisfaction to know how deep it would cut. He had specifically stopped Hopper earlier from bringing Joyce into the conversation, knowing how pretentious and judgmental his parents were. Steve thought that by keeping her name out of it he would be protecting her somehow, but then he realized that by hiding the huge role she had taken on in his life, it would make him just as bad as his parents. Steve was ashamed of a lot of things, but the people he surrounded himself with now weren’t one of them. He stood up a little straighter and waved a hand at the police chief. “Hopper for one. And…Joyce – Joyce Byers.”

  
“You chose _that Byers woman_ , of all people,” Steve’s mother was aghast.

  
“Really mother? _That Byers woman? That Byers woman_ , as you put it, took _your son_ to my first bone marrow biopsy and held my hand as a needle was violently rammed into my bones. _That Byers woman_ was there for me when I was first diagnosed. She opened up her home to me. Every time I had to check into the hospital, she was there. She sat by my hospital bed and brought the kids to the hospital so they could visit, too. _That Byers woman_ has taken me – _your son_ \- to chemotherapy and watched me throw up for hours upon hours. She was there with me the day I thought I was having a heart attack, and she was so great,” Steve’s voice wavered, the emotion overwhelming him. “Joyce – that’s her name – _Joyce_ has been there since the beginning just as much as Hopper has.”

  
“So, what are you saying, Steven? Should we offer her money, as well? I’m certain the likes of her could use it with her whole _situation_ ,” Mr. Harrington commented disdainfully.

  
“No! Christ! That’s your answer to everything, isn’t it? Throw money at it. Jesus! Joyce wouldn’t take it anyway. And don’t do that. Don’t you dare look down on her like you’re better than her because you have money. You aren’t,” Steve planted his hands firmly on his hips, quite literally and figuratively standing his ground.

  
“Very well, Steven. Since you seem to know so much, what do you suggest we do to repay her for her duties?”

  
“ _Nothing!_ You don’t owe her a damn thing. Love isn’t an _obligation. She_ taught me that. _Hopper_. _Those kids_. You know what? Strike that. You do owe her – you owe her your _respect_.” Steve then did something he never willingly did in front of another person before – he removed his hat. He didn’t know what possessed him to do so. Maybe it was for shock value. Maybe it was just a moment of desperation to _get_ _through to them_. Either way, Steve made sure they were not averting their eyes this time and taking in every hairless inch of him. “ _She’s_ the one that held me as I cried right after _this_ happened. Her and Dustin. Even after everything her and her family have been through, she still has enough compassion and love in her heart for someone that isn’t even _her own child_. And you two? Where were you when I needed you? You two can’t even say the word ‘cancer’, let alone _look_ at me.”

  
Steve swiped angrily at one unbidden tear that had escaped. A stunned quiet fell over the room at the close of his passionate speech. The only sounds were his deep, shaky inhalations and exhalations. He suddenly felt very naked and exposed, and replaced the hat on his bald head.

  
The words Steve spoke visibly stung if the looks on his parents’ face were any indication, and he wasn’t sorry in the least. It was a long time coming. His mother was the first to break the stretched-out silence. “You’re aware your father’s job is very demanding? We still have to leave in the morning, but I suppose we should make it a point to call more often and check in and make ourselves more available.”

  
“I know. And yes, I’d like that,” Steve was mildly surprised he wasn’t on the receiving end of yet another lecture already.

  
“I’m not sure what else you’d like us to do from afar,” Mr. Harrington sounded uncertain to Steve for the first time in his life.

  
“For starters, I don’t need you to hire anyone. We’ve been managing just fine. And,” Steve added, “I’m an adult now and I’m going to sign the paperwork anyway, but it’d be nice to have your blessing. I promise you, this is not a decision I took lightly. Hopper and Mrs. Byers have been so good to me. They’ve been there with me through every possible thing you could imagine. I couldn’t have done any of this without their help. They’re really wonderful people, and I want you to see that, too.”

  
“Alright, Steven,” Mr. Harrington conceded. “You win. We’ll back off…for now. Thank you, Sheriff Hopper.”

  
“Yes, thank you,” his mother said flatly. “Steven, why don’t you walk your guest out while I clean up dinner? We’ll wake you before we leave.”

  
They were effectively dismissed. That was it. Discussion over. Steve had said his peace and his world hadn’t imploded. And maybe his parents actually _listened_ to him for a change. Steve stepped out into the driveway with Hopper. “I’m sorry I dragged you in to all this. I didn’t plan for it to go this way.”

  
“Don’t be sorry. It needed to happen,” Hopper clapped him on the back. “Plus, I’ll deny I said this, but I’ve kinda been wanting to tell off your parents for years. It felt good. And I _definitely_ enjoyed watching you finally put them in their place. That took some guts.”

  
Steve snorted. “Yeah.”

  
Hopper shook out a cigarette from the pack and lit it. “All those words you said, kid…they were real nice. But you don’t think your parents are going to, I don’t know, punish you for them or something? They don’t seem like very reasonable people.”

  
“Well, I meant them.” Steve leaned on the porch railing. “And not in the traditional sense. I’m an adult and it’s not like they can ground me or anything. They’re not here to enforce it. And I really don’t have any privileges left they can take away except my car.” Steve crooked two fingers in the direction of the rectangular pack. “Please. I could really use one. Besides, my parents’ specialty is avoidance. They say they’ll call more but they probably won’t. They’ll just forget about me like they usually do.”

  
It bothered Hopper just how matter-of-factly Steve stated the latter. No kid should ever have to get used to being ignored by their parents, let alone a kid as sick as Steve. The police chief handed Steve a cigarette and the lighter. “I really shouldn’t support this habit, but I’d be a hypocrite if I said anything.”

  
Steve took a long drag and smirked. “Good thing you’re not a hypocrite, then.”

  
They finished their cigarettes in the relaxing calm of the chilly fall air. “You’ll be alright until morning,” Hopper asked again as he stubbed out the cherry red embers. Steve nodded. “Okay, but just call if you need me. See ya, kid.” Steve thanked him and waved at the retreating back of the police chief.

  
As Halloween decorations gave way to turkeys and cornucopias displayed in the neighborhood windows, Steve had been able to stay out of the hospital enough to establish a sort of weekly routine. Wednesdays he went to chemo and generally felt bad that night, Thursdays, and sometimes Fridays, as well. The weekends he usually spent in some fashion with the kids. On Mondays and Tuesdays he drove the kids to and from school. Then it started all over again. Rinse. Repeat.

  
Thanksgiving Day he spent with Hopper, El, Joyce, Jonathan, and Will, the other members of The Party having extended family obligations. It was the first family holiday Steve could recall feeling so peaceful and content, despite the fact that it was a holiday that centered around food which he still had some issues with. But what he was really excited for was the Thanksgiving meal planned for the Saturday following that involved all of them. Even if he couldn’t enjoy the food as much as he’d like to, Steve could show off the culinary skills he had accrued over the years. And he had something else special to share with them, also.

  
Steve stood at the Byers’ kitchen sink washing off the bin of cranberries when he felt a small hand graze his back. He hadn’t even heard the front door open. “Since when do you cook, Steve,” Dustin’s familiar and easily identifiable lisp revealed the owner of the hand immediately.

  
“Uh, like, since forever.” Steve placed the newly washed cranberries on a towel on the counter to drip dry. “How was your Thanksgiving?”

  
“Good, I guess. Actually, boring as hell. I was the only kid there.” Dustin watched as Steve gathered the ingredients and utensils he needed. “Can I help?”

  
“If you think I’m letting any of you kids loose in another kitchen after the blender incident, you must be insane. If I let one of you hold this knife, it’s a safe bet one of us will wind up with stitches.” Steve wagged the knife in Dustin’s direction and fumbled it in the process, nearly catching it by the blade and fulfilling his own prophecy.

  
“Way to go, Grace. Got any more cooking advice for me,” Dustin quipped sarcastically.

  
Steve, lacking a good comeback, merely stuck his tongue out at his younger friend. “Out of my kitchen. Now. Go, or I won’t let you have any of the homemade apple pie I baked.”

  
“Wait, you bake too? Just when you think you know someone.” Steve gave him a warning look. “Okay, okay. I’m going. Jesus!”

  
No sooner than Dustin exited the space, Jonathan took his place. “Should I even ask if you need any help?”

  
“From you? I’ll gladly accept. At least I can trust you not to blow up the kitchen or sever a limb or something,” Steve said as he carefully measured out ingredients into a pot and turned the burner on. “I still can’t believe Hopper knows how to cook a turkey.”

  
“Me neither. Just don’t let my mom anywhere near the mashed potatoes. She _still_ can’t figure out the ratio.” Jonathan observed Steve and just how natural and fluid his movements were. His camera was always nearby, and he discreetly captured the moment of domesticity – or so he thought.

  
“If you’re done taking pictures, will you taste test this? My taste buds are absolute shit anymore.” Steve held out a spoon with a dollop of warm cranberry sauce atop it for Jonathan to try. Among other things, the chemo had robbed him of the ability to accurately distinguish flavors. Foods he had previously enjoyed sometimes tasted ashy or metallic. He couldn’t trust his own opinion right now, but he was told it should return. “So, what do you think? Too tart? Too sweet?”

  
Jonathan accepted the spoon and took a mouthful. “Nah, it’s perfect, man. Anything else I can do to help?”

  
“Yeah. If you could start chopping the celery and the onion for the stuffing, that’d be awesome. Thanks, man,” Steve said appreciatively as he took the aforementioned items from the refrigerator and deposited them on the kitchen table.

  
Joyce smiled warmly at the scene in her kitchen. “Will you just look at them, Hop? It’s so great having Jonathan home on break. And Steve, he looks so…happy.”

  
“Well, he is. And he has a good reason to be. I’m sure he’s chomping at the bit to share it.” Hopper sipped his beer as the timer dinged. “Welp, time to baste the bird.”

  
By the time the last of them had arrived at the Byers’ house, dinner was nearly ready and for the most part was cooling on the stove. Steve started to arrange the place settings, but Joyce stopped him. “Go sit down and relax for a minute, honey. I’ve got this. Cooking may not be my forte, but I can set a mean table.”

  
Hopper rounded up all the kids and gathered them together. Once everyone had their drinks and were in their chairs around the elongated, makeshift table, he addressed the group: “Before we all dig in, I believe Steve here has something he’d like to tell you,” the policeman yielded the floor to the teen.

  
Steve rose stiffly, feeling the time on his feet spent cooking and the recent biopsy affecting him slightly. “I can’t think of a more appropriate time of year to say this. First of all, I can’t tell you enough just how much each and every person sitting here means to me. You’ve all been so amazing and supportive these past months, and I don’t know how I would’ve done it without you all.” Steve placed a hand over his heart, symbolically indicating where the words he spoke originated. It wasn’t in his nature to be so demonstrative and open with his feelings, but the whole experience had allowed him to tap into facets of himself he didn’t even know existed.

  
Hopper took in the expectant, worried faces surrounding the table. “Steve, you may want to get on with it before you scare them.”

  
“Oh. Oh, right! As I was saying, the last six months have been really, really rough. Rougher than I could even dream. But because of all of you, I survived it. Words will never be enough, but from the bottom of my heart, thank you!” Steve’s tone had grown thinner and more watery over the course of his speech. He was barely containing his emotions at that point and patted his chest as if trying to reign them in. “Jesus! When did I get so sappy? I never used to be like this.”

  
Joyce grabbed his hand and gave an encouraging squeeze. “Go on, sweetheart. You’re doing fine.”

  
Steve’s voice quivered and cracked as he continued. “Yesterday I got a phone call – the one I’ve been hoping for, for a long time. Thanks to all your help and love and support I made it through. We did it! This nightmare’s finally almost over. I’m in remission!”

  
A chorus of cheers and yells erupted. Joyce and Jim smiled knowingly at one another already having been privy to Steve’s good news. The kids tripped over one another’s sentences as they excitedly rattled off questions or words of inspiration. Steve tried to field them as best as he could.

  
“So, that’s it? The cancer’s really gone,” Mike had listened closely to Steve, but before he let his hopes raise too high, he needed to hear him say it again.

  
“Yes. Well, it’s undetectable, at least.” Once Steve confirmed that his ears weren’t deceiving him, Mike allowed himself to smile at the older boy which was returned easily.

  
“See? I told you that you were tougher than cancer. Total badass,” Max stated emphatically. Steve raised what was left of his eyebrows as if to say, ‘who, me?’. “Totally.”

  
“Strong,” El agreed. “Very strong.”

  
“I’m so happy for you, Steve,” Will’s face shone brightly at him.

  
His brother joined in. “Me too, man. Congratulations!”

  
“This is so great,” Lucas exclaimed. “Now things can go back to normal. With the holidays coming up, we can take you to do all the fun stuff you missed out on. Like, they just put this new ice skating rink in that we should totally try out.”

  
“Geez, Stalker. Give Steve a chance to breathe,” Max shoved playfully at her boyfriend.

  
“Yeah, that might be wise. Before you go parading Steve all over town to keep up with you rugrats, remember it’s cold and flu season. He still has to be really careful about getting sick, and he’s not done with treatment just yet,” Hopper advised.

  
“Wait, what? I thought you said the cancer was gone,” Mike’s tone was somewhere between disbelief and anger – his default mode.

  
“It _is_. But, just to be really sure they do like a…maintenance dose for a little while after,” Steve explained, then shrugged. “I don’t know. I just do what they tell me. It’s worked so far.”

  
Nancy moved so stealthily that Steve didn’t even realize she was right next to him until she cupped his cheek in her hand. From the outside looking in, it was perhaps too intimate a gesture for two people that no longer were dating, but with everything they’d been through together, it made perfect sense. “When we left…I didn’t…we weren’t sure…Just…thank God, Steve. Thank God you’re here and getting better,” Nancy breathed out as she pulled him into her arms. Steve allowed her to lean her head on his chest, his shirt gradually becoming damp.

  
When Nancy finally released him and stepped aside, Dustin was standing behind her quietly. He took two steps towards his older friend before freezing and fidgeting in place. Dustin’s eyes scanned Steve, searching for what he wasn’t sure, but the shine in his eyes was unmistakable.

  
“Why don’t you guys start? The food’s going to get cold,” Steve called over his shoulder as he led Dustin away from the spread and down the hallway to the bathroom for some privacy.

  
Steve sat Dustin on the lip of the porcelain tub after closing the door and positioned himself next to the younger boy. “Hey. Hey, talk to me. What’s wrong?”

  
Dustin suddenly burst into tears. He had no idea what had precipitated his breakdown – especially after receiving such _good_ news, but it just flowed out of him unceasingly. Steve wasn’t entirely clueless, however. He had an inkling of what could have triggered this outpouring of emotion. The younger boy had likely bottled everything up until it exploded out of him like soda from a can that had been shaken up. Steve recognized the trait in Dustin because it was one he too possessed. And at the end of the day, Dustin was still just a _child_ that had appointed himself to the very adult role of caretaker to his best friend who could have _died_ from his disease. Really, he still could.

  
Steve removed the other boy’s hat so Dustin could properly rest his head on the older teen’s shoulder as Steve cradled him. “Just let it out. That’s it. You’ve been so great – so strong all this time. But you don’t have to be strong anymore. It’s okay. I’m okay, Dustin. I’m going to be okay.”

  
The bawling dwindled into small hiccups and sniffles as the younger boy allowed himself to be held and nuzzled further into his friend’s neck, Steve propping his chin atop Dustin’s curly hair and murmuring reassurances to him. Dustin wanted to be overjoyed like everyone else, but he wasn’t naïve enough to think that Steve could promise him that his disease was gone for good and he would live forever, invincible and immortal and never to be touched by cancer again. That was simply impossible. Dustin had seen the abysmal statistics and he couldn’t be the only one afraid of the unknown future. It was a dread that ran so deep, it was consuming him. He had a compulsive need to know that his uncertainties and fears were shared and not unfounded. “Aren’t you worried it’s going to come back?”

  
“Can’t we just be happy, for like, a minute?” When Steve extricated himself from the hug, he caught the seriousness of Dustin’s expression and felt he owed it to him to at least be completely honest. It was obviously something Dustin needed from him in that moment. “Yeah, okay. I am. I mean, who wouldn’t be? But the pause button has been on my life for so long, I don’t want it to be like that anymore. More than anything in the world, I just want to get back to normal and go on _living my life_. And you’re a part of that. So, c’mon. Get up and let’s start!”

  
Dustin swiped the back of his hand across his nose. “How do you do that? You make it sound so easy.” A washcloth hit his face.

  
“I don’t know about easy,” he pushed Dustin towards the sink. “It’s all I’ve thought about for the last six months and I don’t want to do that anymore. Dwelling on it isn’t going to change anything, _and_ we have a houseful of people waiting to celebrate with a meal I slaved over, by the way. So…let’s go celebrate!”

  
After Dustin finished cleaning himself up, the pair walked into the room arm in arm. Dinner was already in progress and no one called attention to them, respecting the privacy of their conversation. Dustin absorbed the scene around him and it clicked what Steve meant. Here now – this was life. Focusing on the ‘what-ifs’ would only serve to steal these moments, and cancer had already taken enough from his best friend without giving it the power to take more. He slowly felt his appetite return as he dove in, pleasurable hums emitting from his throat at just how delicious everything was. With Steve’s health being restored, he was seriously going to have to take advantage of this newly discovered skill of his friend and had no shame in saying so. “No offense, Hopper and Mrs. Byers – and don’t tell my mom I said this, but I nominate Steve to cook from now on. Jesus Christ!”

  
“Thank you! And maybe if you’re a good little boy, I’ll do it again for Christmas,” Steve grinned teasingly.

  
“Oh, there’s nothing about Dustin that’s little,” Lucas snarked.

  
“Yeah, that’s what your girlfriend said,” Dustin instantly retorted.

  
“What? Ewww,” Max protested.

  
“Sorry, Max. Nothing personal, just guy talk,” Dustin retracted, embarrassed.

  
“Boys! Boys,” Hopper scolded. “We are at a dinner table and there are ladies present. So, shut the hell up!”

  
“Nice, Hop. Real nice,” Joyce commented as she retrieved the pies from the kitchen, setting off peals of laughter all around at the police chief’s colorful way with words. On the way back in, Joyce planted a quick kiss to Steve’s forehead. “I’m so happy for you, sweetie. I knew you could do it.”

  
Steve wasn’t sure if she was referring to the meal or the cancer – maybe both. Either way, this post-holiday dinner celebration was in stark contrast to any meal he had shared with his family before. He thought, this is the way it was _supposed_ to be, and it filled him with immense joy.

  
Jonathan and Nancy had to go back to school after that weekend, but returned home the week of Christmas. Steve enlisted their help to take the kids ice skating. Lucas’ suggestion for a group activity had been a good one, but although the side effects of the post-remission therapy were less intense, they were still present. Steve wanted someone else there just in case he had to suddenly bow out. He even convinced Joyce to join in, but Hopper adamantly refused, citing the reason that he was the only police chief in town and if he was put out of commission with a broken leg, then the whole town would be royally fucked. He did agree to tag along to watch, begrudgingly admitting that seeing El skate for the first time would be a thrill he couldn’t pass up.

  
Steve stuck close to the wall, his balance not what it once was. It was hard to believe that just a short year ago, he sailed up and down the basketball court without sparing a second thought to how gracefully he commanded his body to perform a litany of athletic feats. Now, he wobbled precariously, lacking the muscle mass to properly stabilize himself.

  
From the bench, Hopper noticed Steve’s forlorn expression and called him over before he shuffled by. Jonathan and Nancy were just behind Steve, holding each other up and not faring much better. “It’ll come back, kid. It’s only been like a month. Give yourself a break. It’s going to take some time to get back to your full strength.”

  
“I know. I do,” Steve sighed, fiddling with the end of his feeding tube that was tucked behind his ear and under his navy blue wool hat. “I was just hoping to have this out before Christmas, but they say I still need to gain five to ten more pounds and maintain it before that can happen. Soon, though.”

  
Hopper slapped at Steve’s knee. “Well, new year, fresh start. Right?”

  
Mike and El, Will, and Dustin clumsily skated by. Steve followed them with his eyes. “Yeah, something like that.”

  
Something else about Steve just seemed _off_. Hopper couldn’t let it pass without getting to the bottom of it. “What else is on your mind, kid?”

  
“Nothing really.” Steve’s exhaled breath was visible in the frosty air of the rink. “My parents’ll be here tomorrow for Christmas. I get that they’ve been calling more and trying – at least for them. It’s just…I’ve gotten used to them not being around, and now…”

  
“And now you’re not sure you want them to be,” Hopper completed the sentence Steve left hanging in the air, adding,” and you definitely don’t need them to be.”

  
“Well…yeah. Does that make me a bad person,” Steve cringed at just how awful hearing it aloud sounded.

  
Hopper slowly twitched his head back and forth. “Nope. Just makes you human. No crime in not wanting to waste your time on people who treated you like you weren’t worth theirs’ – even family.”

  
Steve picked at his fingernails. “All things considered, I’d rather be spending Christmas with you guys instead of them.”

  
“Yep, I’d feel the same way if I were in your shoes. But I think you owe it to yourself to see if this can work. Even if they don’t deserve it, you do,” Hopper punched him lightly in the arm. “Besides, the New Year’s Eve party will be like our family Christmas. You have that to look forward to – starting the New Year looking at my pretty face.”

  
“Steeeeeeve,” Max beckoned him as she glided smoothly by. It was no surprise given her expertise with the skateboard that she excelled at ice skating, too. Lucas wasn’t doing quite as well, but was holding his own with his girlfriend’s patient instructions.

  
“I don’t know guys. I’m not so good on my feet anymore,” Steve said doubtfully. “I’ll just hold you back.”

  
Lucas met the wall with a resounding crash. “You’d never hold us back, Steve. It’s not your style. And besides, we wouldn’t _let you_ fall behind, either. C’mon,” he begged, tugging on the older teenager’s arm.

  
“That is, unless you’re…chicken,” Max challenged him.

  
“Uh-oh. Are you gonna let these kids talk to you like that,” Hopper teased with a glint in his eye. “Better go defend your honor there, Harrington.”

  
Steve rose to his feet and his ankles trembled dangerously from unskillfully balancing on the skate blades. “Holy shit. I’m so gonna bust my ass,” he muttered to himself, not meaning for anyone to overhear him as he slid one tentative skate onto the ice.

  
“No, you’re not. We won’t let you,” Max stated confidently as she held onto his waist and guided his arm around her shoulder. Lucas did the same on the opposite side, distributing his weight evenly. “We’ve got you. Just move your feet. That’s it. See? It’s easy.”

  
This is what Steve had been reduced to – being upheld by two eighth graders at least several inches and several pounds less than him. The Steve of two years ago would have been mortified at the position he currently found himself in, but his present self decided that it wasn’t such a bad place to be. He felt lighter than he had in a really long time as they flew across the ice.

  
Joyce spun by, precariously pinwheeling her arms to stave off the seemingly inevitable fall. She collided with Mike who in turn knocked into Dustin who went down like a sack of potatoes, cussing up such a frenzy that Steve was certain he came up with five new colorful phrases during his tirade. The force of his laughter doubled him over to the extent he almost pulled Max and Lucas with him. Steve’s howls of delight switched into sporadic coughs that he couldn’t quite contain.

  
Lucas patted him on the back. “Are you okay?”

  
“Oh, holy shit! That was amazing,” Steve choked out between coughs. “Like freakin’ dominoes.”

  
Steve’s mirth was contagious and eventually even Dustin and Mike were able to join in at their own expense. Hopper handed the teenager a glass of water and clapped him on the back to allay the coughing fit, chuckling himself.

  
Unfortunately for Steve, that fit turned into a persistent cough that further morphed into a continuous harsh bark over the next several days. It was accompanied by a rising fever which is how he found himself sitting in the doctor’s office on Christmas Eve with his mother, of all people. She was glaringly out of place among all the clinical equipment and décor. “Do you think we’ll have to wait long,” she asked nervously.

  
“I don’t know. You could wait outside if you want. I’ll be fine,” he mumbled apathetically, too focused on holding in his forced expulsions of air. “I’m sorry I’m ruining Christmas,” he tossed in as an afterthought.

  
“Nonsense, Steven. We were planning on spending a quiet Christmas with just the three of us. This will just give us a better reason to stay in.” Mrs. Harrington gazed at her son laying listlessly on the examination table. “Is this what it’s always like for you?”

  
“Sometimes,” Steve whispered, giving a tiny smile at her attempt at being the slightest bit interested in his care.

  
The family doctor entered. “Well, hello young Mr. Harrington. I hear you’ve got a nasty cough and a fever to go along with it. Let’s see what we’re dealing with, shall we?”

  
He removed his stethoscope from around his neck and listened to Steve’s heart and lungs. When asked if he had been wheezing or short of breath at all, Steve confirmed both things. “Looks like a pretty nasty case of bronchitis. We’ll get you started on antibiotics and an inhaler. I’d spend the next week in the house, and given your history, maybe even in bed. It should clear up if you take it easy and take the medicine. Just make sure to fill the prescriptions on the way home. Pharmacies close earlier today. Don’t worry, Steve. We’ll get you fixed up.”

  
Mrs. Harrington took the doctor’s orders literally and barely let Steve out of bed for the next few days except to use the bathroom or shower. Even his communication with his friends was restricted to short walkie talkie exchanges that he snuck in before he retired to bed. Annoyed, Steve didn’t know if he was suddenly sleeping so much because he was really that sick, or if it was his cowardly way of avoiding his mother’s impulsive overcompensation for years of absentee parenting and guilt about leaving yet again before New Year’s.

  
Either way, her newfound overprotectiveness was no match for the pushiness of Dustin Henderson who muscled his way through the front door after several days of being kept from his friend. She could do nothing but stand aside, baffled by the strangely insistent curly-haired boy. But when the younger boy got a glimpse of the older one, propped up on a mound of pillows, arms draped limply across his torso, Dustin started to wonder if Steve’s mom was right to keep him confined to bed, after all. “Jesus, Steve. How are you feeling?”

  
Surprise flashed over Steve’s features. “Fine. Better now that you’re here. How the hell did you get past the warden?”

  
“Charm and good looks,” Dustin deadpanned. “Seriously, man. It was weird you being on lockdown even after Christmas. I wanted to check for myself you were okay.”

  
“Well, as you can see, I’m fine.” Steve’s declaration was betrayed by a series of coughs he muffled with his sleeve.

  
“Sure, you are,” Dustin placated. “But really, _are_ you? Maybe this New Year’s party isn’t a good idea right now.”

  
“I’m only coughing because it’s breaking up and coming out. The antibiotics are doing their thing. Don’t worry so much. I’m _fine_ ,” Steve maintained despite stifling another cough.

  
Dustin seemed dubious. “Okay, but one thing that is _not_ fine is your parents’ abysmal sense of holiday decorations. Just a tree and a wreath? Really? We’re all coming over the day before to deck the halls and all that shit. But you’re not allowed to help. Your contribution is this house, got it?”

  
Steve let out a prolonged whine. “Fiiiiiine. But I’m so bored. I’m dying here.”

  
“Well, I brought a book with me. I could read to you,” Dustin suggested offhandedly, not really expecting a positive response as he whipped a novel out of his bag.

  
“That actually sounds…like not that terrible of an idea. And that should just show you how desperate I am,” Steve wisecracked.

  
“Just shut up, Steve and listen.” Dustin turned to the first page and began reading aloud. He continued for awhile, lost in the story, until he heard faint snores drifting up. He eyed the pump next to the bed. “Oh shit, Steve. We shoulda done that first. We gotta get you hooked up.”

  
Steve only mumbled unintelligibly and burrowed down further into the pillows. The bedroom door softly clicked open at that moment. Dustin placed a finger to his lips to keep Mrs. Harrington from waking the slumbering boy. “Your mom’s here to pick you up.”

  
“Okay, tell her I’ll be down soon, please. Steve fell asleep before he could connect himself. I can do it, though. It’ll just take me a minute.” Mrs. Harrington did as asked while Dustin washed his hands and gathered the supplies.

  
Steve’s mom unexpectedly reappeared in the doorway. “What are you doing, exactly?”

  
Dustin was absolutely flummoxed at her question. He hoped she was kidding and wasn’t as ignorant as she sounded. Did she not realize the tube wasn’t some freakish fashion statement, but had an actual medical purpose? He resisted his sarcastic urge and settled on being direct. “This is how Steve gets most of his calories. Eating is…hard for him right now. So, every night while he’s sleeping, he gets hooked up to this. Usually, he does it himself, but I can do it, too.”

  
“How do you know how to do this,” she was genuinely curious.

  
“Because I’m here and I care,” Dustin said bluntly, having a glimmer of understanding just how cutting those words really were. Now that he got that jab in, he pulled back a little. “I asked him to show me once, and he’s talked me through it when he’s had some bad nights and was too sick or hurting too much to do it.”

  
Mrs. Harrington studied his actions as he drew the water up and pushed it in slowly like he was taught. He connected the tube, having to wrestle the end from beneath Steve’s shoulder where it had shifted. He then added the formula and programmed the machine. “That’s it. It’ll beep when it’s done and then Steve will take care of it in the morning.”

  
“You really are a remarkable child. I can see why Steven thinks so highly of you,” Mrs. Harrington praised.

  
“Steve’s pretty remarkable, too. I wish you could see that,” Dustin muttered the last part under his breath while glancing at his friend’s peaceful form. Shaking himself out of his reverie, Dustin turned and flashed her his most charming toothless grin as he jetted out the door, eager to put an end to the awkward conversation. “Thank you! Just tell him I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

  
Two days later, as quickly as they came into town, the Harrington’s slunk out again as if they were never there. Steve awoke to an empty house and stood in the kitchen as he drank his coffee, enjoying the solitude. The hot liquid soothed his still-scratchy throat, but did nothing to relieve the fever kissing his brow or the bone-deep ache coursing through him. Steve was beginning to wonder if he had caught a case of the flu and knew another trip to the doctor was in his future. He was just trying to delay it until after the party. After the sobering week spent with his parents, a bit of levity was in order.

  
He trudged up the stairs to change his clothes before the kids arrived to decorate the space to their satisfaction. Even though he was given instructions not to do anything in preparation, Steve was still going to keep himself busy in the kitchen – the room he forbade them to set foot in. Otherwise, he could care less what they did to the house since his parents weren’t going to be home to discourage the abundance of trimmings.

  
Dustin, as usual, was the first to show up at his front door. There was a bag overflowing with garland clutched in one hand and a bag that suspiciously jangled in the other. “Are you feeling any better?”

  
“Yeah, actually since I’ve been able to get up and move around.” Steve hated deceiving his friend, but they all needed this as badly as he did. “Well, don’t let me stop you. Do your worst.”

  
Steve tucked himself away in the kitchen, concocting a spread of hors d’oeuvres for the next day. The more time he spent apart from the kids, the less likely they were to discover the fact that he still felt like complete roadkill. Still, they popped their head in from time to time to say ‘hi’ and check on him.

  
They were finally able to pull him out of his lair to view their finished product, “Holy shit! It looks like the North Pole threw up in here.”

  
“You don’t like it,” Will’s crestfallen demeanor would soften even the hardest heart.

  
“Nonono. I don’t hate it, just…Christmas is technically over. Isn’t it a little overkill?”

  
“No, Scrooge. You can never have too much Christmas,” Dustin chided.

  
“Don’t do that. I love it. Really! And I’m sure your parents will, too. Speaking of which, you should get home to your families. It’s getting late and I’m tired.” Steve really _was_ beat, he just didn’t want them to realize just _how_ exhausted he was.

  
“Geez, we put in all this hard work and this is the thanks we get – put out on the street,” Mike jested dramatically. Steve just gave him a playful shove on the shoulder. “Alright. Alright, we’re going.”

  
“Goodnight,” Steve called after them before his back collided with the door. He hauled himself over to the couch to catch a quick nap before dinner, but he wound up accidentally crashing there until morning, inadvertently skipping his nightly treatments.

  
Refreshed was certainly not a description Steve would use in relation to himself when he awoke late the next afternoon. If anything, the generalized achiness he experienced bloomed into a raging fire licking at his chest. He forced himself into the shower to try to east the tight band constricting his rib cage, but it was unrelenting. If anything, the hot steam put an even more suffocating strain on his breathing.

  
The inhaler on his nightstand lay mostly unused, but Steve snatched it up and took a long pull off of it to try to get some relief before adding some last minute touches for the party. His first order of business was to carry in stacks of wood from outside for the fireplace. It wasn’t especially heavy, but he still found himself panting worryingly from the exertion, having to take a minute before he could carefully arrange the logs and light them. Steve stoked the fire until it was sufficiently roaring. He blamed the sickly rush of warmth that he felt on the time spent in front of the fire, swiping away beads of sweat with his forearm.

  
Steve tuned the stereo to a station that was still solely playing Christmas music and fed it through the mostly useless intercom system his parents, for some unknown reason had installed, even though they were never here to use it. “Do They Know It’s Christmas?” blared out of the speakers as he retreated to his room to change.

  
The knit Christmas sweater with reindeer and snowflakes dancing across it fit him perfectly last year, but now hung loosely around his midriff, even with the maroon polo layered underneath it. Despite the poor fit, it was the most appropriate attire he owned for a holiday themed party, and all his clothing was similarly sized. There was nothing he could do about it now anyway.

  
He bounded down the stairs to work on the food. Wrong move. Steve coughed so hard and so long that he was unable to draw in any air or straighten up for several scary moments. The lack of oxygen left him woozy and clinging to the wall for support.

  
Recovery was slow, but thankfully he was able to pull himself together before both Hendersons arrived, arms overloaded with trays of food. Steve tried to relieve Mrs. Henderson of her burden, but she wouldn’t hear of it, circumventing his outstretched arms to reach the kitchen and set down her packages on the marble counter. Claudia grabbed his hands and drew him in for a hug. “How are you feeling, dear? Dustin said you’ve been under the weather this past week.”

  
Steve hoped his throat clear went undetected. “Much better, thank you.” He pulled away to preheat the oven.

  
“Steve, what the hell? I told you we’d take care of everything,” Dustin let out an exasperated sigh at Steve’s stubbornness.

  
“I’m just turning a dial. Jesus! Get your panties out of a bunch, Henderson.” He really wanted to say ‘dipshit’, but thought better of it in front of the kid’s mother. Steve removed some platters from the refrigerator. “Besides, if you want my cooking, these have to get heated up.”

  
The temptation of Steve’s food was too great to pass up. “Fine. But tell us how long and what temperature. We’ll take care of it.”

  
“Take care of what,” Hopper’s deep voice boomed out from the other room. El preceded him into the kitchen.

  
“Nothing, just Steve here being a dumbass and not listening to us as usual. I _told_ him not to do anything today. So, what else have you done,” Dustin accused.

  
Steve shrugged, glaring at the younger boy. “Nothing. Just the music…”

  
“And,” Dustin prompted.

  
“And…maybe brought some wood in and got a fire going. No big deal.”

  
Dustin held his palm out towards the younger teen while addressing Hopper. “See. Dumbass.”

  
Any further discussion on the subject was postponed by the arrival of the Wheeler clan. Both Karen and Ted had grown extremely fond of Steve while he dated Nancy, and were even, at one time, thrilled at the prospect of him becoming their future son-in-law one day. Neither one entirely understood why Nancy had abandoned that ship, although Karen suspected she would sympathize with her if her daughter bothered to explain it to her. The teenagers’ breakup didn’t preclude them from caring about the boy, however and frequently asked after him. Karen had even dropped off some casseroles and checked in on him from time to time during his illness.

  
Karen was gladdened to see him up and about and as lively as before. She embraced him – bony edges and all. “You’re looking well. I was so happy for you when Nancy told us the news.”

  
“Thank you,” Steve said sincerely.

  
Ted placed a stiff hand onto Steve’s shoulder. “Yes. You still owe me a rematch on the court.”

  
“Jesus, Dad! He’s only been in remission a month. Give him a chance to heal,” Mike grumbled.

  
“Language, Michael,” Ted rebuked his huffy son.

  
Mike just rolled his eyes as Nancy shared an amused look with Steve. He was just glad he wasn’t the only one with weird parents. Sometimes, it seemed that Lucas had the only semi-normal parents, but he loved every one of them, quirks and all. The subjects of Steve’s musings were the next group to walk in the door, Max and Lucas’ little sister in tow. Erica made a beeline for Steve and launched herself around his waist. “Steve! Is my nerdy brother treating you well? Tell the truth.” Steve nodded, entertained by her protective streak of him. “Good because if he gives you any shit, let me know and I’ll take care of it. And another thing, hurry up and finish getting better. I need your babysitting services pronto. The sorry substitutes my parents have stuck me with don’t hold a candle to you.”

  
Steve chuckled at Erica’s sassy directness as Mrs. Sinclair warmly kissed his cheek. She was another motherly presence he was extremely grateful for. Ever since Lucas had animatedly described Steve’s defense of him against Billy to his parents in such a way as to rival the greatest superhero panels ever penned by Stan Lee in the comics the kids were so enamored with, the Sinclairs had stopped just short of fully adopting Steve. Mrs. Sinclair had frequently brought over groceries or a warm meal when she checked on him these last several months.

  
The only woman that could out-mother them all was Joyce Byers, who to no one’s surprise was the last to arrive with her boys. But she was the first to notice the searing heat that was rising from Steve’s forehead. Steve had to do a lot of fast talking to convince her not to wrestle him into the bathroom right then and there and forcibly take his temperature.

  
If anyone noticed that Steve said very little throughout the course of the evening, they failed to mention it, too distracted by the surplus of delectables and the easy conversations of good company. He suppressed his coughs with cherry-flavored cough drops and regular sips of water. When he could resist the urge to cough no longer, he excused himself to the bathroom to let it out. Each episode left him gasping for air and having to use the inhaler each time.

  
Closer to midnight someone turned the TV to “Dick Clark’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve” in preparation for the countdown and the ball drop. Steve pulled at his damp collar. He was positively boiling and having increasing difficulty drawing in any breath at all, let alone a deep one. He fumbled his way to the sliding glass door, just intending to step outside for a moment to cool off. The gulps of air he was struggling to take in were gradually diminished to mere wheezy sips. He directed himself to the chair by the pool, but it seemed so far away. The lack of oxygen fueled the fuzziness in his head, making everything distorted. If only he could reach the chair and sit, maybe he could regain his ability to breathe.

  
Mike and Dustin were arguing over something inconsequential when Dustin’s attention was diverted to the half-open sliding glass door. Steve never left that door open – not after everything with the Upside Down and Barb – and certainly not in the middle of an Indiana winter. Maybe it was open because Hopper or Mrs. Byers had gone out for a smoke and simply didn’t pull it all the way shut, but that was ruled out when he spotted them in opposite corners of the room.

  
Dustin just had this overpowering sense of _wrongness_ and rushed towards the open door, Mike a step behind him. His heart jumped into his throat and he would swear it had literally stopped beating for a full minute when he recognized the white tennis shoes with the red swoosh jutting out from the side of the chaise lounge, the only part of Steve visible.

  
Dustin’s feet carried him rapidly around the lounge chair to the prone form of his friend, splayed brokenly across the concrete, eyes tightly shut. “Nonononono. Steve! Steve?” Dustin knelt down and slapped lightly at his friend’s cheek, feeling the heat radiating off it in stark contrast to the frigid temperature outside. “C’mon. Don’t do this. C’mon, wake up, buddy. Steve…Mike, go get Hopper. Now!”

  
Mike darted back into the house and reappeared with the policeman less than a minute later. Hopper quickly assessed the situation as he tucked Steve’s head into his arm to get him off the ice-cold ground. He, just as unsuccessfully, tried to get Steve to wake up. “Mike, go get Joyce and a blanket.”

  
Hopper yanked his ever-present radio off his belt. Calling on the police channel would save precious minutes. “This is Chief Jim Hopper. I need you to get an ambulance to the Harrington residence ASAP.”

  
“Hopper? Hopper,” Dustin yelled frantically.

  
Hopper had to pause relaying information to deal with Dustin. “What,” he snapped.

  
Dustin’s eyes were impossibly wide and frightened. “He stopped breathing!”


	9. I Just Hope You Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's life hangs in the balance after his collapse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone is doing well out there! Thank you always for all the kind words, kudos, etc. I had a bit of writer's block with this part to work through, so I'm not as happy with it as I'd like to be. Hopefully, it's still readable. The only TW (besides a lot of medical talk) is the beginning of a panic attack. There are things I'd like to add, but I'll save it for the end notes. As always, take care of yourself and happy reading!

Time became incredibly distorted after Dustin had frantically yelled those three bone-chilling words – “ _he stopped breathing_ ”. It simultaneously sped up and decelerated until everything appeared to move in slow motion. Hopper scrambled to jam two fingers under Steve’s angular jawline, desperately searching for any semblance of a rhythmic sensation. He was only mildly relieved when he found one. It was very faint, but it was there.

  
Steve lay, upper half cradled limply in the police chief’s meaty arms, but Hopper needed to get him flat. He despised doing so, but he had to reposition Steve’s prostrate form back onto the frosty ground, yanking Dustin’s fingers and thrusting them onto the spot that he had occupied with his digits seconds before. “You feel that?” Dustin blinked once and nodded numbly. “Good. You tell me if you stop feeling it!”

  
Steve’s head flopped loosely around as it was tilted skywards, and his mouth pried apart by rough, yet gentle hands. Hopper pinched Steve’s nose shut and sealed his lips around the teenager’s sickeningly purplish ones, forcing air into the non-functioning lungs. “C’mon, kid. C’mon. You’ve come too far to give up on us now.”

  
Joyce materialized in Hopper’s peripheral vision as Steve’s chest puffed out in response to his exhalation. “Joyce, I need you to take over,” breath, “and do what you did for Will.” Breath. “Can you do that?”

  
Instead of responding verbally, Joyce prepared herself to give the next breath. The police chief jumped up and shouted instructions at Jonathan and Nancy to flag down the paramedics and direct them to the backyard to save precious moments that Steve didn’t have to waste, ignoring the varying degrees of horrified expressions the rest of the group wore. He clutched his radio tightly, willing the ambulance to _come_ _faster._

  
The distant bleating of the sirens drew nearer at an agonizingly sluggish pace. The red and white lights bounced off the wooden privacy fence and reflected into the pool, transforming it temporarily into a lake of blood. Jonathan and Nancy came sprinting through the back gate, two uniformed men hot on their heels.

  
The professionals relieved a quickly tiring Joyce as they efficiently assessed Steve while Hopper fed them what little information he knew of the situation. Steve’s neck was extended to an impossible angle as a plastic tube was threaded through his trachea, exposing the random pattern of beauty marks that dotted not only his cheek and the line under his jaw, but continued trailing down his throat and disappearing under his collar.

  
Dustin was hypnotized by the generous sprinkling of those dark freckle-like marks that were so unique to Steve. The moles, that resembled a photo negative of an astronomical map – deep chocolate onyx against a pale sky – were all that kept him from flying apart into a tiny million pieces. If he shifted his concentration for one second and was confronted with the barrage of tubes and monitors slapped onto his friend’s skin to tether him to this planet, he might not be able to keep himself glued together.

  
In his stupor, Dustin didn’t even realize Steve had been whisked away until Hopper was guiding him in the opposite direction of the ambulance and to another vehicle. “No! No, I wanna go with Steve!”

  
“You’re with me, kid,” Hopper said kindly.

  
“No! If he- if something happens…He shouldn’t be alone. Please let me go,” Dustin practically yelled his manic plea.

  
“He won’t be alone. Joyce is with him. And my cop cruiser is just as fast as the ambulance. I’ll get you guys to the hospital.” Dustin’s soft shoulders were shaking under his calloused hand. “Hey, it’s okay. Steve’s tough. It’s gonna be alright.”

  
“How can you know that for sure,” Dustin implored him with his eyes to give him even the smallest of hopes to hang onto.

  
Hopper couldn’t respond to Dustin in the manner he wanted because the truth was, he simply didn’t have a good answer to that. He knew his words rang hollow, but he had nothing better to offer. The expectant, apprehensive faces of the other kids peered out at him from the windows of his vehicle. He didn’t question their presence and merely leapt in and sent the sirens screaming through the night.

  
The adrenaline was fading and the tremors that coursed through Hopper overtook his hands and threatened to veer them off the road. He hunched over the steering wheel and gripped it until his knuckles were white to keep his hands steady, pushing the accelerator as far down as he dared without crossing the border into reckless. There was already one kid that wasn’t leaving the hospital tonight. There was no need to add a half dozen more, plus one half-cocked police chief.

  
Years of combing through the small town and being intimately familiar with all the back roads and shortcuts had them arriving at the ER almost a full minute before the ambulance came screeching in.

  
Their small group was in the foyer as the automatic doors hissed open and Steve was briskly wheeled in on a stretcher, the personnel of the hospital coming to meet the paramedics at the door. As the mobile bed was whipped sharply around a corner, Steve’s head lolled flaccidly to the side towards the children, giving them a full view of his lifeless face with the tube protruding grotesquely from his slack mouth. It was attached to a bulbous piece of plastic, being squeezed at timed intervals. There was a hurricane of activity surrounding the older boy, but Steve was the epicenter of it all – lying so quietly and oh-so-disturbingly still.

  
Dustin took in every horrendous detail, and observed as they talked _over_ Steve, and not _to_ him, as if they were merely working on a body and not a person – _their_ person. It infuriated him. Dustin instantaneously ripped himself out of Hopper’s steel grasp to fly to his friend’s side, spouting encouraging words at the unconscious form in a blind panic that he later would not be able to recall saying. “Steve! Please, Steve! You gotta fight!” The younger boy made it to within arm’s length and was able to reach out and place a small hand on the now bare shoulder. “We’re all here! We’re all here for you! Please don’t leave us!”

  
He felt himself being pushed lightly away from the gurney by calm but persistent hands. “You’ve got to let go, son. You’ve got to let us help your friend.”

  
“Brother! He’s my brother,” Dustin corrected hysterically. “Don’t let him die! Don’t let my brother die!”

  
Dustin watched helplessly as Steve was taken down the hall to another room, the double doors swinging shut ominously. He inched backwards until he hit something solid and dejectedly slid down it. He hugged his knees and let out the racking sobs that were only marginally suppressed all night, everything slamming into him and catching up with him all at once. A pair of soothing arms wrapped around him and rocked him, whispering to him. At first, Dustin thought it was his mother, but she wasn’t here yet. In his distress, he had forgotten that Mrs. Byers had been in the ambulance with Steve. He tearfully looked up at her. “Please tell me he’s gonna be okay.”

  
“Oh, honey.” Joyce just squeezed tighter. She couldn’t promise that and they both knew it. She offered what little comfort she could. “He’s a fighter. And the doctors – they’ll fight for him, too. Hang on to that.”

  
“Do you think he heard me,” Dustin whispered meekly. He was still holding tightly to his thread of hope.

  
Joyce lifted her face from where it was buried in Dustin’s curls to meet him square in the eye. “I _know_ he did. I’m _sure of it_.”

  
The pair stayed huddled together on the tiled floor as the rest of the attendees at the party showed up carload by carload with the exception of the Wheeler and Sinclair parents. The foursome had stayed behind to extinguish the fire in the fireplace, put away the food, and generally just make the house livable again for when Steve returned home, whenever that might be. Because they had to believe that he _would be_ coming home.

  
The New Year had long since passed, unacknowledged by the shaken-up individuals strewn dazedly around the waiting room. Some of the kids were propped up against each other and dozing while others paced anxiously. The Sinclairs and Wheelers had gotten to the hospital an hour ago, and there had still been no news.

  
Dawn was breaking before they received any updates. A weary doctor in blue scrubs called out Steve’s name into the waiting room and was surprised that all the occupants belonged to his patient. “Usually, I’d do this in a conference room, but I can see that’s not an option.”

  
Hopper was not a patient man, and he made no attempt to hide that fact. “Just tell us how Steve is. We’re all family, so you can say whatever you got to say right here to all of us.”

  
“When Steve was first brought in, his blood pressure was extremely low and his pulse rate and fever were very high. With the help of some fluids, all his vital signs appear to be moving in the right direction at this point, but he is not out of the woods yet. Steve never regained consciousness and he still isn’t able to breathe on his own. We have him hooked up to a ventilator that’s breathing for him, and as a result we will continue to keep him heavily sedated.”

  
“You mean he’s in a coma,” Hopper had heard all the medical jargon before, and it always frustrated him that doctors never seemed to come right out and say exactly what they meant.

  
“In a _medically induced_ coma, yes,” the doctor confirmed.

  
“So, what’s causing all this,’ Joyce asked directly.

  
“Is it the cancer? Did Steve relapse,” Lucas’ voice rose an octave higher in his distress.

  
“We sent off a biopsy just to be sure. We’ll have to wait a few days for the results and consult with his oncologist, but I don’t think that’s the issue. We also sent off a bunch of blood, including cultures that take a few days to come back, too. So far, all his blood work has shown us is that he has an infection and is profoundly anemic. We’ll be giving him several units of blood over the next couple of days, but the anemia is likely just a coincidence and not related to the more acute problem.”

  
“Which is,” Dustin was beyond agitated with worry and sleep deprivation.

  
Instead of answering the question, he posed one of his own. “Has Steve had any recent respiratory illnesses? One that may have not been treated, like a cold for instance?”

  
Claudia Henderson, who unlike her usual self hadn’t said a word the entire night, stepped forward. “He had a wicked case of bronchitis over Christmas. The poor dear sounded just _awful_. But my understanding from my Dusty is Steve was given antibiotics and was on bed rest for the week.” Her son affirmed this.

  
“Ah, I see. That would certainly shed light on the chest x-ray,” the doctor produced a film and held it up to the light. “See that? Steve’s lungs are filled from top to bottom with fluid. He’s got a very severe case of double pneumonia. We’ll have to wait for the cultures to come back to know exactly what we’re dealing with, but I’m pretty confident based on the clinical history and what we’ve seen tonight that he became septic from how advanced the pneumonia is. We’ve started him on several broad spectrum antibiotics to try to get ahead of it.”

  
“But, I don’t understand,” Max protested. “He took the antibiotics. I _know_ he did. So, why didn’t he get better?”

  
“And why did it get so bad so quickly,” Mike wondered, for once agreeing on something with Max. “We just saw him yesterday too and he was _fine_.”

  
“No, he wasn’t.” Joyce clapped a hand over her forehead as she pieced things together. “Oh my God. Jim! I _knew_ he had a fever earlier tonight. I _knew it_. But he kept avoiding me. If I had just _forced him_ , and we got him here sooner…”

  
The doctor tried to address all their comments at once. “Even though the cancer’s technically gone, Steve is still on treatment and his immune system is still compromised. Not only is he open to more infections, but they can be worse than if you or I were to get them. It can turn ugly pretty quickly. Getting him here a couple hours sooner would have been helpful, but he would likely be in the same position as he is now. What I _can_ tell you for sure is that if you all hadn’t been with him tonight, young Mr. Harrington here would not still be with us.”

  
All of them had known that on some level – especially Hopper and Dustin who had witnessed firsthand the rise and fall of Steve’s chest ceasing entirely. But to hear it out loud drove it home, and a collective gasp rippled through the waiting room.

  
Jonathan clutched Nancy tighter to his body as she whimpered, “Can we see him?”

  
“He’s been moved to ICU. Really, children under sixteen aren’t allowed back there,” the doctor informed them.

  
“I know there are rules for a reason, doc,” Hopper began in his best negotiating voice, “but these kids…these kids saw one of their closest friends almost die tonight. It might be good for them to have a little reassurance that he’s still here before they go home to sleep. I’ll make sure that each of them has an adult with them.”

  
Sometimes rules were meant to be broken. This was one of those times. “Okay, but only two at a time. One adult and one child. And no more than five minutes. I know it’s important for you to see him, but Steve is still very critically ill and needs his rest. Just so you’re prepared, he’s connected to a lot of machines that you need to be careful of. And he won’t be able to respond to you at all, but some people believe that people in comas can hear you if you speak to them.”

  
“Do you believe that,” Dustin had asked a variation of the same question he had posed to Joyce earlier. His voice was filled with even more tentative hope than before.

  
The doctor wasn’t quite sure if he did or not, but he could see that the child before him needed to. “Yes, son. I do.”

  
Hopper turned to El. “You’re with me.”

  
She slowly shook her head. “You take Dustin. I visit Steve in here,” she tapped the side of her temple.

  
Hopper gave her a quizzical look. “But his mom can take him in.”

  
“Dustin needs _you_. You were there. You understand him. Like Steve.” El beseeched him with her large eyes. “I’m sure.”

  
El was so resolute that no further discussion was needed on the topic. The large group followed the doctor to the intensive care waiting room, and Hopper planned to take Dustin in first, but was met with resistance initially. “I don’t think I can go in yet. Somebody else can go first.”

  
Everyone understood Dustin’s heartbreaking admission and sympathized. The whole situation was gravely upsetting, and none of them _wanted_ to see Steve like that – and be the first ones to do so, at that. But _somebody_ had to go first, and Nancy bravely volunteered herself. Jonathan refused to let her go alone.

  
The couple walked hand in hand to the glass enclosed room. The curtain was drawn across the clear door, and they paused to gather themselves before entering. The pair may have falsely convinced each other that they could handle whatever lay on the other side of the thin cotton material hanging from the ceiling, but they were woefully unprepared for the stinging reality.

  
There were so many machines and bags of medication around the austere white hospital bed that Jonathan and Nancy almost couldn’t see Steve amongst all the tubes and wires that enveloped him. When her eyes finally landed on the nearly unrecognizable figure, a small cry escaped Nancy’s throat. Jonathan could only choke out one word: “Steve.”

  
Any weight that Steve had gained in remission seemed to have disappeared overnight. He looked so small and _shrunken_ , swallowed up by equipment. Nancy wanted to approach the bed, but she wasn’t sure where she could wedge her body without disrupting the delicate balance of machinery working to keep Steve alive.

  
The ventilator was to the left of the bed, the hosing webbing out until it culminated at the tube tucked into the corner of Steve’s inert mouth and anchored there by silk tape. The heart monitor was just above that, and played a discordant symphony as it beeped steadily, alternating with the whoosh of the ventilator, their rhythms out of sync. Steve wasn’t even given the dignity of the hospital gown being properly fastened, both shoulders starkly exposed to make room for the monitor leads and the multiple IV lines that sprouted from the port.

  
Nancy traced the lines upwards to a wall of bags filled with fluids of different consistencies and colors. Saline, antibiotics, tube feed, and a red, viscous fluid that could only be blood. Even Steve’s arm and finger were encased with a monitor, so she chose to lay a hand on his leg, one of the few places that didn’t seem encumbered. But she was mistaken. Underneath the blanket, she could feel something wrapped around his leg, pumping up and subsequently deflating. “Jonathan…”

  
Jonathan had cautiously maneuvered himself to the side of the bed occupied by the multitude of IV pumps and clasped Steve’s hand. “You’ve got a whole waiting room full of people pulling for you. Who want you to get better and wake up. This was going to be a great year, remember? The cancer’s finally gone. And um, there’s lots of stuff you…” Jonathan sniffled a few times before composing himself. “You’re supposed to come visit me at college and I’m going to hold you to that. Don’t make me do 1986 without you, man.”

  
Nancy followed Jonathan’s lead and inched her way to the bedside. She wrapped her hand around Steve’s, careful of the oxygen clip on his slender pointer finger. When they were dating, she frequently found herself brushing back his hair and she stretched around the breathing tube to do the same out of habit, even though his hair had been gone for months. It was starting to regrow, but it more resembled a close-shaven buzzcut than the voluminous tufts he sported beforehand. Nancy realized with a start that she had never seen him without a hat or a head covering of some sort and thinking about all he’d been through up to this point made her well up all over again, but she didn’t allow it to spill over. She _couldn’t_. She might never stop.

  
“You don’t get to do this to us, Steve Harrington. You don’t get to leave us without a proper goodbye.” Nancy’s fingers skimmed the bristly nubs of hair. “So, you have to wake up. _Please_ …”

  
There was no response. Neither teen was expecting any, but the echoing beeps of the monitor and the hiss of the ventilator seemed to mock them.

  
The pair had taken more than their allotted time and tried to hastily pull themselves together before joining the others, but Jonathan nearly lost it when Joyce hurried forward to embrace him. “It’s bad, Mom. So much worse than I thought. Maybe the kids shouldn’t, you know, see him like that,” he said into her ear.

  
In the end they left it up to the kids and their respective parents – if present – on whether they wanted to see Steve or not. They all chose to go, except El, who would visit in her own way later.

  
After witnessing Jonathan and Nancy’s poorly hidden reaction, Dustin seemed to be the one having the most trouble reaching a decision. He did eventually come to the conclusion that he _did_ want to go, but he insisted on being last. He knew that after he saw Steve, he would be inconsolable and would need to be alone.

  
Mike shyly requested that Nancy accompany him, instead of his mother. She obliged, and Karen and Ted went in on their own. Jonathan volunteered to take Will so Joyce could take Max – the only one of the kids in the waiting room without a parent. After Lucas emerged from the room with his mother, Dustin knew he could stall no longer.

  
Hopper crossed the threshold with him, but let Dustin go ahead to grant him whatever privacy he could. It was clear the younger boy was having a difficult time with this. Dustin had always been defensive and protective over Steve, but it only amplified once Steve got sick. He loyally remained by the older teen’s side through every hideous side effect, every mood swing, every hospital stay. In fact, there were times he had to almost literally be peeled from Steve’s side. Almost nothing seemed to faze him – until tonight.

  
This hit far too close to home for Hopper, as well. Sarah. His Sarah. She had gone into respiratory arrest too, and seeing Steve in the bed looking so small and childlike was like glimpsing the ghost of his little girl. Hopper forced himself back into the present. Two of the kids needed him right now, and he didn’t have the luxury of indulging in his memories.

  
Dustin spoke so lowly, Hopper couldn’t listen even if he wanted to. Every few words, the young boy crept closer to the bed as if his utterances were propelling him forward. His knees finally bumped up against the edge of the bed, and he delicately sat himself down, conscientious of all the tubes and wires woven into a macabre tapestry around the other boy. Undeterred by all the apparatuses attached to his friend, Dustin draped his arms loosely around Steve’s in an approximation of a hug. His curls splayed across the hospital gown as Dustin pressed his ear against Steve’s chest, seeking the reassurance of his actual heartbeat instead of the mechanical representation.

  
Dustin remained there until Hopper gently prodded him that their time was up. A few more murmurs escaped the boy’s lips as he squeezed Steve’s limp hand. Satisfied, at least in the moment, Dustin abruptly removed himself from the bed and brushed past Hopper as he angrily swiped at his cheeks.

  
All the kids – and adults – were exhausted and emotionally wrung out. They all needed some sleep and a hot meal, though neither would be easy to grant themselves the pleasure of. But they had to at least try, or they would be useless in the days ahead.

  
It was another five days on the ventilator before Steve started fighting it and trying to breath on his own. On the sixth day, the doctors were able to transition him to an oxygen mask, although he wasn’t really awake yet and remained in ICU. The daily chest x-ray was showing improvement, and the biopsy had thankfully come back negative letting them all breathe a small sigh of relief.

  
The good news had to be shared via phone with Jonathan and Nancy, the latter of which had vehemently opposed returning to college with Steve still in the state he was. She and Karen had had the biggest fight in their entire mother-daughter history about this very subject. Jonathan had understood Nancy’s predicament, but was torn. His scholarship depended partly on attendance, and he wouldn’t dare pose the argument to his own mother knowing he’d be risking too much. So, they both had to unwillingly leave home, but carved out the time between classes to make multiple calls every day to check in on their friend’s status.

  
Nancy wept uncontrollably in the middle of the common room, as nine days after Steve had come off the ventilator, he was alert and well enough for Joyce to hold the phone up to his ear for a few brief moments and she got to hear his very scratchy and thin voice. It was a barely-there, wisp of a sound, but it was the most beautiful thing she had ever heard. Nancy didn’t care if everyone was staring at her breakdown. All that mattered was Steve was getting _better_.

  
Steve had been transferred to a regular room by the time he talked to Nancy. Although, talk was a rather strong word for what he actually did. The anemia had been corrected and the infection had cleared from his blood, but the recovery from the pneumonia was painfully slow. It just wasn’t clearing up as well as well as it should be, and the breathlessness that accompanied it couldn’t quite be shaken. For the most part, even several days later, Steve was able to get by with just the nasal cannula, but the mask was still kept close to the bed because he frequently suffered coughing spells that stole all the air from his lungs.

  
He was experiencing one now, and Joyce hurriedly disconnected another call with Nancy to come to Steve’s aid. The relentless coughs racked his body until he was wheezing and gasping, one hand clutching at his chest while the other one was trying to push himself forward to sit up. But he was too weak. Joyce placed the mask over his face and helped him into a more upright position. “Take as deep a breath as you can. That’s it. You’ll be okay, sweetheart.”

  
Joyce continued to hold the mask in place until Steve nodded at her and slumped back against the pile of pillows. “Thank you,” he mouthed.

  
“Sshh, don’t try to talk, honey. Just focus on breathing,” Joyce stroked his cheek that was still too warm with fever.

  
These episodes took a lot out of him, and combined with the relaxing ministrations of Joyce’s wonderfully cool touch, Steve felt himself being lulled into a peaceful doze. Sleep was what he seemed to do the most of lately, but considering he couldn’t get himself out of bed or stop hacking long enough to concentrate on anything, he supposed it wasn’t that much of a surprise.

  
By the time he awoke, the kids had long since arrived for their daily after-school visit. Steve felt horribly guilty that, not only did they came every day instead of doing all the things that kids should be out doing instead, but he couldn’t even give them the courtesy of managing to stay conscious for the entirety of their stay.

  
“Hey,” he rasped out a greeting. Steve tried to smooth out the roughness of his vocal cords by clearing his throat that was perpetually marinated in phlegm these days, but no matter what he did, the hoarseness was persistent. Joyce slid a straw in his mouth which he gratefully drew from. “Sorry, I was sleeping again.”

  
“Shut up, you dork,” Max perched on the edge of the bed and graced him with a rare, bright smile. “We’re not here for you to entertain us.”

  
“Yeah! Don’t you ever get tired of having the same conversation with us every single day,” Mike asked indignantly, but with an underlying tone of concern.

  
“How are you feeling today, Steve?” Will’s contribution to the conversation was always less tongue-in-cheek and more directly heartfelt.

  
“You know, never better. This whole breathing thing,” the teenager gestured vaguely to his face adorned with oxygen tubes, “is way overrated. Annnnd, how lucky am I? Who doesn’t want to be able to stay in a warm bed all day instead of being out in that?” Steve’s soft laughter was interspersed with restrained, close-lipped coughs as he pointed at the sleet pounding against the Plexiglas window.

  
“Yeah, it pretty much blows out there,” Lucas agreed, chuckling a bit himself.

  
“Are you serious right now? You think this is funny?” Dustin’s brow was deeply creased in fury as he glowered at them all. “How can you call yourself ‘lucky’? You nearly _died_ , Steve. You’ve got tubes up your nose to _breathe_. You can’t get through more than two sentences without coughing your ass off, and you’re here bullshitting about the weather?”

  
Everyone sat, frozen into stunned silence for a few moments at the outburst that had been simmering under the surface for days and just waiting for Dustin’s emotional boiling point to be reached. Steve had been anticipating it, quite frankly. “Can you – can you all give us a few minutes, please?”

  
Joyce gave him a small nod as she ushered the other four kids out. She shared a knowing look with him before she shut the door behind her.

  
“C’mere,” Steve waved the younger boy over and patted the bed beside him. He scooted himself over with noticeable difficulty, his respirations getting heavier and closer together. “Sit.”

  
Dustin’s cheeks burned with the vestiges of anger and the creeping tendrils of guilt that were infiltrating him at the sight of Steve fumbling with the mask by his head, taking two large inhalations from it before setting it aside again. The movement had sapped his already depleted air supply. Dustin couldn’t let Steve’s efforts be for naught. He climbed into the bed and leaned his head gingerly against the other teenager’s shoulder.

  
The pair sat in companionable silence for awhile until Steve finally broke it. “It must have been scary for you.”

  
“You have no idea,” Dustin scoffed, in spite of himself.

  
“You’re right. I don’t.” Steve poked at the cord of the oxygen monitor attached to his finger. “I’m sorry I scared you. All of you.”

  
“Don’t be such a dumbass, Steve. None of this is remotely your fault, so stop,” Dustin stated firmly. “That’s the last thing you should be worrying about.”

  
“I do, though, you know. I can’t imagine if the roles were reversed and how I’d handle it.” Steve had _a lot_ of emotions involving the last few weeks and what happened to him, but now was not the time to express them. Dustin needed to vent, and there wasn’t much Steve was capable of at the moment, but thankfully listening was one of them.

  
Dustin took a long time to formulate his thoughts that had been running through his head at a million miles a minute since he found Steve collapsed by the pool. “When you said you were in remission, I _wanted_ to be happy. I _should’ve been_ , but this is partly what I was afraid was gonna happen. The cancer’s gone. Everything was supposed to be fine, but it’s never really going to be totally fine, is it?”

  
“I don’t know. I hope so, but maybe not,” Steve replied honestly. “I try not to think about it too much and just focus on today.”

  
“It’s _all_ I think about anymore. You’re like, one of the most important people in my life. My first thought in the morning is wondering if you made it through the night okay, and my last thought is hoping you’re not too sick or in too much pain to sleep. It never _stops_ , and my worst fear almost came _true_. We almost _lost you_. Not being able to see you or talk to you would…” Dustin left the rest unspoken. There was no need to elaborate. “And to hear you make a _joke_ of it really pisses me off.”

  
Steve lifted his arm so Dustin could shift closer, coughing lightly. “You’re right. It’s not particularly funny. Not being able to breathe and waking up to find out I’d been unconscious for six days was really terrifying. And still needing the oxygen and not being able to get myself out of bed is a really hard pill to swallow. Joking is about the only thing I _can_ do about it. It’s just how I deal with it. I’m sorry if it upsets you. I just…I need to make it okay, somehow, I guess.”

  
“I get that. I do. I guess I’m not ready to joke about it yet. Hopper knew what to do, but if he hadn’t been there…,” Dustin trailed off before completing his thought, moving on to the next one. “You don’t have to always cover it up with a witty remark. Sometimes it’s just okay to not be okay, you know.”

  
“I know. Sometimes I think pretending that everything’s okay will actually _make_ things okay. But I guess it really doesn’t make it any easier in the end, does it,” Steve admitted with his eyes cast down.

  
“No, it doesn’t. But I love that you try.” Steve had temporarily calmed the storm of Dustin’s emotions. It was a talent that seemed to uniquely belong to the older teen, and a skill that had become second nature to him, especially where Dustin was concerned.

  
Once Dustin was able to see clearly through his own rain clouds, he could sense just how much the other boy was hurting inside underneath the jovial facade. How much he needed to talk, too. “What was it like for you? When you were out of it?”

  
“Like I dream, I guess. I could hear you, you know. All your voices. I don’t know if I remember specifics, but I definitely knew you were there.” Steve’s gaze landed on the ceiling, still avoiding looking directly at Dustin. “I could hear your voices, but no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t wake up. I thought that was it for me.” Steve emitted a few harsh coughs, as if punctuating his sentence.

  
“Those were the drugs, Steve. They had to keep you sedated with the tube in,” Dustin explained.

  
“I know that _now_ , but I didn’t know that then. It just seemed like a remarkably stupid way to go – essentially take down by a cold. That’s why I said I was lucky. I was _lucky_ you found me. I was _lucky_ Hopper knew what to do. And I’m _lucky_ I’m still here.” Steve used the oxygen mask briefly to stem another bout of splutters. “But now I have to figure out what comes next. What happens when I go home?”

  
It was a good question that unfortunately Dustin did not have an immediate answer to. “When _are_ you going to get to go home?”

  
“Don’t know,” Steve shrugged. “Not until my fever breaks, at least, and they want me off the oxygen and up walking. It’s taking forever. Too long. What if my lungs don’t ever recover, or – or I can’t get around on my own anymore? How am I going to make it up the stairs at my house?”

  
Steve was visibly stressed and headed straight towards a panic attack if his newly acquired hyperventilated breaths were any concrete indicator. His rapid respirations were peppered with coughs, making it harder to draw breath and increasing the feeling of suffocation. Dustin retrieved the mask from over the other boy’s shoulder and held it to his mouth and nose. “Breathe. Slow. That’s it. I’m sure you’ll get all the way better. It just takes time. And patience, which I know you’re not good at. I wish you’d give yourself a break now and then. You’ve been through so much.” Dustin rubbed at his friend’s arm as the speed of the breaths slowly decreased. “In the meantime, you could stay with us if you need help. You know my mom loves you. Hell, you’ll probably have people fighting over who gets to take care of you.”

  
Steve gave a nod and a wan smile that was almost completely obscured by the mask. “Yeah, I guess. I know you’re right. Anyway, what we were talking about before…Do you feel better now?”

  
That was just like the older boy – fighting for air and warring with his inner turmoil, but still displaying a higher level of concern for someone else. “Yeah, I do,” Dustin was able to reply with total truthfulness. Once he knew Steve wasn’t just brushing off the last few weeks and had been aware of their presence at his bedside, he was more at peace. Dustin didn’t know _why_ it was so crucial that Steve had heard them while drifting in his induced coma, but it was. Now, if only some of Steve’s worries could be allayed, too. “But I think I should be asking you that question.”

  
“Not yet. But I’m getting there, I guess. Like you said, it’s probably just going to take time.” Steve tugged on Dustin’s t-shirt until he was fully wrapped in the older teen’s arms.

  
On some level, they had both needed that heart-to heart-conversation to relieve some of heaviness weighing them all down. The tension disappearing from the atmosphere was like a pressure valve being released. Thankfully, the pair had said all that they needed to say before a knock on the door separated them. It was the respiratory therapist coming to give Steve one his many daily breathing treatments.

  
Dustin stared at the plastic device that emanated a white mist before Steve wrapped his lips around the mouthpiece and captured it. It clicked for him what Steve had been doing all along. He wasn’t trying to make everything okay just for _himself_. It was for _them_ , too. In his wisdom, he knew that all of… _this_ was scary, and he didn’t want it to be for them. Steve needed them to not live with the same fear he did every day. It was just like the whole thing with the Upside Down. Yet again, he was protecting them – this time with his humor. _Dammit to hell_. Why couldn’t Dustin see that to begin with instead of lashing out? It took some time, but it finally penetrated his thick skull.

  
His epiphany was followed by a vow to himself – he would try to follow Steve’s lead, however bitter the light-heartedness felt on his tongue. “Dude, I think we found your new character in D & D. Wait til I tell the others. You look like a futuristic dragon with all that smoke coming out of your mouth.”

  
Unable to verbally retort, Steve flipped him off, but his eyes crinkled at the corners, a silent understanding passing between them.

  
It wasn’t until the end of the third week that Steve’s fever finally broke. He spent the fourth week in the hospital building up his strength and trying to be weaned off the oxygen. Neither endeavor was going very well, but the doctors decided keeping him in the hospital any longer would be putting him further at risk for another infection. So, he was being sent home tomorrow with prescriptions for antibiotics and oxygen, and would be returning to hospital as an outpatient for rehabilitation and the resumption of his chemotherapy that was put on hold during the acute infection.

  
Not that Steve wasn’t enormously pleased to finally be getting out of the hospital, but it was a small consolation given that he would still be spending a fair amount of time there, and the shuttling back and forth that would have to occur exhausted him just thinking about it. The other prominent issue was that he knew he couldn’t return to his own home in his current state, and alone on top of it, but the thought of staying with someone else made him feel every bit of a burden with all his medical needs.

  
Hopper and Mrs. Byers reassured him constantly, but Steve was loathe to make a decision and force himself – and all his baggage – upon anyone else. Finally, Mrs. Byers made the choice for him. “I’ve been needing a nudge to get that extra room cleaned up, and this is the perfect reason. Meanwhile, you can stay in Jonathan’s room.”

  
Steve balked at that, opposed to the idea that he was taking over his friend’s room and pushing him out of his own house. “Where will he sleep when he comes home?”

  
“With Will temporarily until I can get the other room fixed up. It shouldn’t take too long,” Joyce warmly assured him with a pat to the arm.

  
“Thank you, but no. I’m not kicking Jonathan out of his own room,” Steve resisted. “I’ll just sleep on the couch or something.”

  
Hopper was more than annoyed with Steve’s delusional obstinance and could hide it no longer. “Kid, stop being so pig-headed! Joyce here is not going to set up Hawkins Memorial in her living room and trip over equipment all day long. Be realistic, for Christ sake’s! You can’t lay flat with gunk still in your lungs, and you can’t even get out of a bed without help, let alone a couch. Did your brain get fried, too? And if Jonathan were here, he’d tell you the same thing.”

  
Hopper’s rant sparked an idea. While the chief vented his pent up frustrations at Steve, Joyce was going to try a different tactic. She grabbed the phone off the hospital nightstand and pulled it into the bathroom with her. It took her several minutes, but she eventually got her son on the other end and filled him in.

  
When she reemerged from the bathroom, Joyce shoved the phone at Steve without explanation. He listened with increasingly widening eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. If you’re sure. Yeah.”

  
Joyce accepted the phone back and exchanged a few pleasantries before hanging up again. “Better,” Joyce asked him.

  
“No. I think I was just blackmailed,” Steve seemed bewildered, but he ultimately agreed to their plans after Jonathan had a few words with him. Hopper threw up in hands in exasperated relief.

  
Steve arrived at the Byers’ place – his home for the foreseeable future – the next day. All the medical necessities preceded him that morning, so all they had to worry about was getting Steve inside which was still no easy feat. He was still incredibly weak, and the walker he was sent home with wasn’t really made for traversing rough, uneven ground or long distances. Therefore, the hospital sent him off with a wheelchair, as well, which Hopper was currently attempting to coax him into.

  
It was not going well. Steve abhorred that he required either and fervently contested their use. “I want to walk. I’m supposed to be up as much as possible.”

  
Hopper groaned at Steve’s stubbornness. “I know you do, but you’re not ready yet. Not by yourself. We’ve been over this. So, don’t be a brat. Let me help you into the chair.”

  
Steve crossed his arms and huffed from the passenger seat. “Fine.”

  
Joyce was amused. Neither male realized just how similar their personalities could be, although Steve was a little more well-mannered and possessed a little more finesse. She watched as Hopper helped Steve free his legs from the confines of the vehicle and delicately lifted him under the arms, swiveling him into the chair as if he’d done this a hundred times before.

  
She closed the car door and ran ahead to unlock the house, shouting out to Will that they were home. They got Steve settled into Jonathan’s old room, the furniture rearranged to accommodate the wheelchair and the various other medical equipment to make maneuvering around as unproblematic as it could possibly be for the ailing teen.

  
Will found Steve poised on the edge of the bed as Joyce bustled around in the kitchen, throwing dinner together. The older boy glared disgustedly at the metal frame in front of him as his ran a hand over its cool surface. “Is something wrong, Steve?”

  
“No,” Steve tried to keep his voice neutral, but clearly failed.

  
“Boy, the rest of The Party is right. You are a terrible liar. But that’s not a bad thing,” Will teased lightly.

  
Steve sighed. “Just trying to decide if I have to go to the bathroom badly enough that I actually have to use this awful thing.” Steve kicked the walker with his sock-clad toe for emphasis. “I thought only _eighty_ year olds used this thing, not _eighteen_ year olds. I’m pathetic.”

  
“Steve! I wish you wouldn’t say those things about yourself. Did you think I was pathetic when I needed extra help after the Shadow Monster was cast out of me?” Steve immediately shook his head. “Do you think it’s pathetic when you see someone out in public that needs a little extra assistance getting around?” Steve again twitched his head in the negatory. “So, why do you think that of _yourself?"_

  
Steve could only shrug. Will had an excellent point, but it didn’t change the way he felt. Instead, he released the other thing that had been bugging him. “So, is this weird for you? I mean, your brother’s away at college and here I am, honing in on his space – and your’s.”

  
“Not at all. Mom’s great and all, but without Jonathan here it’s gotten kinda lonely. Having you here will be…nice.” Will smiled sweetly at him and gave him a side hug.

  
The Byers brothers were immensely blessed to have siblings as wonderful as each other. Mulling over their relationship made Steve yearn for his own little brother - Dustin. He wasn’t born with one, biologically speaking, but he had been lucky enough to find one, nonetheless.

  
“I’m going to see if my mom needs help,” Will told him from the doorway, subsequently leaving Steve to ponder their encounter. With a sigh of resignation, he heaved himself up and began the arduous journey across the hall, grateful the oxygen tubing was long enough that he didn’t have to carry that, too.

  
Will was internally pleased that his words had landed as he heard the muted thumps of the walker against the carpeting. He couldn’t fix all of Steve’s problems, like no one could do for him, but he could lift him up in other ways. He laughed to himself as muffled curses floated out from the hallway. There was no denying that Jonathan and Steve were very different, but they shared one very important quality in Will’s eyes; they were equally as great big brothers. And Will found himself eternally thankful.

  
Most of February, and into March, was consumed by Steve’s therapy appointments. He was gradually improving with each passing week. By the time Nancy and Jonathan returned for Spring break, he was able to get around unassisted and only needed the oxygen at night and very occasionally during the day if he was particularly active.

  
Both Jonathan and Nancy hugged him long and hard, overjoyed that their last image of him was no longer that of the pallid boy on the ventilator, dangling over the jaws of death, but a much healthier and more alive version. Phone conversations were no match for the very real and very solid flesh beneath their fingertips.

  
Steve repeatedly tried to offer Jonathan his bed back, which Jonathan adamantly, but gently refused each time. “Really, the air mattress is fine. It’s probably less lumpy than my old bed, anyway.”

  
The other teen groaned at Jonathan’s flimsy protest and begrudgingly climbed into the bed after he returned from brushing his teeth. “But still…”

  
“Steve, stop already,” Jonathan commanded as he rolled onto his side to face his roommate for the week. “Just do whatever you need to do, get connected or whatever so we can go to sleep. All these kids running around hopped up on Easter candy are killing me.”

  
“Even your little brother? I thought Will was pretty much a saint,” Steve smiled to himself, never having seen Jonathan so annoyed before.

  
“Hardly. Give him a few pixie sticks and he’s as wild as the rest of them.” Jonathan’s complaints died out as he studied Steve’s movements, fluidly and efficiently preparing the bag with the tube feeding and hanging it from the hook on the pole. His elongated fingers deftly manipulated the syringe and its contents before dancing over the machinery to program it with practiced ease, ultimately connecting himself to the contraption. Steve wiggled onto the other side of the bed to adjust a dial and flip a switch.

  
Steve had turned himself back over, untangling the clear tubing before he realized he was being watched. “What,” he asked self-consciously as he settled the tubing into his nostrils and around his ears, securing it so it didn’t slip in the night.

  
Jonathan pulled the blankets tighter around himself in the drafty bedroom. “Nothing. Just looks really complicated, is all.” There was a time when Jonathan would’ve scoffed at the idea of seeing Steve as anything more than the dumb jock his reputation painted him to be. He grew comfortable in his preconceived notion that the athlete was intellectually inferior to, well…most of their peers, including himself. But the more time Jonathan spent with Steve, the more layers that were uncovered, obliterating the box that such arbitrary labels placed him in. It took someone very strong – and not just physically – to survive all the things Steve had. Taking care of oneself in the face of such a complicated illness with complicated therapies showed just how smart and capable Steve really was. It was too bad he couldn’t see that himself.

  
“It’s not. Any idiot can learn to do it. Case in point,” Steve directed a finger at himself, regurgitating the lie he had been fed his whole life. “ ‘Sides, it shouldn’t be much longer. Just until I finish chemo at this point, I think.”

  
“Which is,” Jonathan leaned himself up on an elbow.

  
“About another month if all goes well.” Steve popped his head up animatedly. “I can’t wait. You have no idea.”

  
“I can only imagine,” Jonathan continued to stare, still marveling at Steve.

  
“What,” Steve asked again.

  
“Nothing. Just thinking.” Jonathan was hesitant to express what was running through his head, but maybe it was something Steve needed to hear. “I wish you wouldn’t call yourself an idiot – even indirectly or as a joke. All the things you’ve had to learn these last few months…I couldn’t work those machines. You’re actually pretty smart, you know.”

  
“Now I know you’re delirious from lack of sleep. Goodnight.” Steve flicked the light off and burrowed into the pillows, initially uncomfortable with the sudden compliment. The darkness blanketed them as he mulled over Jonathan’s praise, not quite able to make the words fit in relation to himself after years of proving otherwise. But the sentiment was still appreciated. Steve let his voice break the hush that had fallen over them. “Jonathan? That means a lot coming from you. Thanks.”

  
Spring break week passed quickly and Steve was actually a little sad that Jonathan wasn’t there anymore. It had been good for all of them. He didn’t have time to dwell on it though, as his days were still filled up with appointment after appointment. The one he was enthusiastically anticipating was fast approaching and it just so happened it was scheduled for the day before his birthday. Steve had had a biopsy and it was confirmed that it would be his last treatment. He couldn’t have asked for it to fall at a better time.

  
Steve buzzed with excitement as he walked into the suite with Hopper at his side. Even the unendingly grumpy policeman was unusually cheery today. He stepped onto the scale and had his vital signs taken. It was taking longer than usual to get him hooked up, and he was growing impatient, eager to be done with it all.

  
The extra waiting paid off. Apparently, Steve’s weight had reached the threshold it needed to. Normally, the doctors would prefer to see that number maintained, but given the circumstances, they were allowing the tube to be removed today. When asked if Steve was okay with this development, he could only stare at them dumbly. He wasn’t quite comprehending the question because _obviously_ he wanted it out. Had anyone ever actually said ‘no’, they wanted to keep it?

  
The doctor peeled the tape off that had seemed to fuse with his cheek. The doctor made a few adjustments, and then in one smooth motion, slid the tube out.

  
“That’s it,” Steve asked as he gawked at the tip, slick with juices he didn’t want to even think about the origins of.

  
The doctor nodded and handed Steve a tissue. “Yep. I’ll let the nurses get you started on your final treatment.”

  
It tickled a bit on the way out, but it was far simpler having it removed than it had been having it placed. After all the grief it had caused him, it was hard to believe it was over just like that. Hopper clapped him on the shoulder and kept it there as Steve was tethered to the IV pole for the last time.

  
Hopper and Steve both wore the same stupid grin on the way home. Even the familiar queasiness creeping in couldn’t dampen his spirits. The police chief opened the Byers’ front door for him and waved him inside.

  
Steve was overcome with emotion when he was greeted by Mrs. Byers and the whole group of kids clutching balloons and banners congratulating him.

  
“You did it,” the group chorused at him.

  
Steve hugged them one by one, giving a good squeeze before pulling away from one set of arms and moving on to the next. “No,” he corrected them, “ _we_ did it.”

  
As Steve lay in his bed – well, technically Jonathan’s bed – that night, he was truly content. It was one of the best days he could recall, even though he had to rush to the bathroom a few times. Soon, that too, would be a thing of the past. And tomorrow he would turn 19. There were several times that he wasn’t sure he was going to live to see the day. Mrs. Byers and Will had come in and shouted “happy birthday” to him at midnight before retiring to bed themselves, and it elicited an honest-to-God giggle from him.

  
The walkie talkie crackled to life by his head. He snatched it up and depressed the button. “This better be good.”

  
“It is, I swear.” Dustin. “It’s after midnight.”

  
“Yeah, and shouldn’t you be sleeping? It’s a school night,” Steve feigned annoyance.

  
“Well, excuse me for wanting to wish you a happy birthday. So, happy birthday, dumbass.”

  
“Thanks, dipshit,” Steve replied fondly. “Now really…get to bed before your mom catches us and accuses me of being a bad influence or something.”

  
“Steve, you’re ridiculous. That would never happen.” Steve could almost feel Dustin’s eye roll over the radio waves. “Oh, and Steve? One more thing.”

  
“Yeah,” Steve prompted softly.

  
“I’m really glad you were born.” That time, the smile in Dustin’s voice was clearly evident.

  
“Thanks.” Steve’s lips rose at the corners involuntarily. “Me too. Goodnight.”

  
“You’re supposed to say over and out, lamebrain, but I’ll let it slide since it’s your birthday and all. Goodnight. Over and out.”

  
“Goodnight. _Over and out_ ,” Steve enunciated the last part exaggeratedly. He played with the buttons a bit until he got drowsy and tossed it to the side. It was a foreign feeling to drift off to sleep without any immediate worries or concerns for the future. Without his sickness looming over his head and the uncertainty it brought with it. The only pressing thoughts in his head at that moment were his birthday and the people that he loved in his life that had seen him through all of it – good _and_ bad days.

  
And today? Today was definitely one of the good ones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, let me start off by saying, this is not the end of the story by far. This part feels a little uneven to me, but there's a lot going on in my life right now, so I'm sure that's reflected in my writing. But tbh, that's the reality of day to day life with cancer. Some days are great. Some are bad. But mostly, it's somewhere in between. In the past month, my family has had a graduation and multiple birthdays - including my own - to juggle, which are all great things. But there's also been some hard things, too. Of course, what's going on in the world in general is affecting everyone, but in my world I came to a tough decision. After spending a couple years fighting to keep my hair with my ongoing treatment, I finally had enough and let go of my hair last night and shaved it off. It was the right thing to do and I'm not really sad about it, but still...it was not an easy place to get to. And I'm working on my 10th infection since Thanksgiving. Supposedly, my cancer levels are still undetectable (which is great), but some of my other blood work is just as bad, if not worse, than it was when I was diagnosed and I can't figure it out. So, I've never been as sick as Steve (thank God!), but just because the cancer's gone (or undetectable), it doesn't necessarily mean all problems automatically disappear. And the type of cancer I have, is always going to low level be there because it's chronic. Hopefully, you are all well out there and if you're reading this, thank you for letting me vent a little. Hopefully, it gives a little insight into what I was thinking as I was writing.


	10. Gather All My Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life after cancer is not as easy - or as problem free - as Steve envisioned it being. Adding his less-than-stellar parents, a new job, and an energetic group of kids to the mix only complicates things and makes it glaringly clear that his journey isn't over. At least, he gains another ally along the way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone is doing well out there and staying healthy! Thank you always for the continued support of this story! I appreciate it more than I can say! No real TW I can think of. Please excuse any typos. It's been a stressful and tiring couple of weeks, but I was really excited to get this part out. It accurately reflects my reality of trying to balance work, what I want to do, and my health. It doesn't always goes as planned - especially with the pandemic. As always, stay safe and happy reading!

Jonathan was startled when he heard a soft knock on the beaten-up, fake wooden door. He was puzzled as he wasn’t anticipating anyone until tomorrow, and it was finals week. It was an easy week for him as most of his finals were projects or papers he had been working on all along, but most everyone else was holed up in their room, cramming for the upcoming tests.

  
The door gave a tremendous, drawn out creak as it was swung open. “Steve! You’re early.”

  
“Hey man. Sorry. I hope you don’t mind.” Steve wore a lopsided grin to hide his uncertainty. Normally he wouldn’t just drop in on someone, uninvited, but he couldn’t bear being at home any longer. Besides, Jonathan _was_ expecting him -just _tomorrow_. “I was getting antsy, and it’s just…My parents came home a day early and I didn’t want to hang around.”

  
“No! No, of course not,” Jonathan realized he had left Steve standing awkwardly in the hall. “Come in. Come in.”

  
“Thanks.” Steve dropped his bag by the bed and took out a stack of papers. “Don’t let me distract you. I brought stuff to do if you’re busy.”

  
“Nah. It’s alright. I just got this one project to finish up and then I’m done for the week. It’s not due for a couple days.” Jonathan tidied up his desk. “I could actually use a break. Do you feel like taking a walk? Seeing the campus?”

  
“Now? Sure,” Steve stuffed the papers back into his bag to be dealt with later.

  
As Jonathan locked his door, he looked back over his shoulder. “So. Your parents aren’t, like, having a coronary about you leaving while they’re there?”

  
“Maybe. I didn’t stick around to find out.” Steve shrugged bitterly. “Besides, who cares? Give them a taste of their own medicine for a change.”

  
Jonathan couldn’t blame Steve in the least for feeling the way he did. Trying to put himself in Steve’s shoes, he couldn’t even imagine how he’d react if neither one of his parents cared enough to visit him after he nearly died.

  
Hopper had called Steve’s parents to inform them of their son’s grave condition, but it had taken a full twenty-four hours to track them down. When he finally did, they gave some lame excuse about being snowed in for an entire week. The week had turned into the whole month. Steve wasn’t coherent enough in the beginning, so he wasn’t as glaringly aware of his parents’ absence until much later, but when he finally asked after them, Hopper had no choice but to tell him the truth. The pain and hurt shone through in his eyes despite his efforts to mask it, but he didn’t seem surprised. “I knew it wouldn’t last,” was his resigned response.

  
There wasn’t anything Jonathan could add to Steve’s declaration that would be sufficiently comforting, so he only uttered a weak, “Yeah.”

  
As the duo strolled along, heads turned in their general direction. At first, Steve thought nothing of it, but then it started occurring with increasing frequency. He realized that the same thing had happened to him on the way to Jonathan’s dorm, but he didn’t really process all the gaping faces until now.

  
Steve’s fingers skimmed his downy locks. He wasn’t sporting a hat today. He’d been wearing them less and less, gaining more self-confidence as his hair grew. It was still extremely short compared to his normal flowing mane, but now it just appeared that he had a preference for a close-cropped style instead of practically wearing a neon sign around his neck that screamed he was a cancer patient. Still, he was feeling renewed self-consciousness under all the sudden scrutiny. “Why is everyone staring at us?”

  
Jonathan just tossed his shoulders nonchalantly in the air, unbothered, as he continued on his way.

  
A large, Gothic building loomed across the quad, and Jonathan steered them in that direction. He was pretty sure at one time it was used for a church. The intricate stonework and carvings were an aesthetic accomplishment by themselves, but it was what was inside that Jonathan wanted to show Steve so badly.

  
Steve’s eyes raked over the moss-covered stone. “Where exactly are you taking me, Byers?”

  
“You’ll see. C’mon,” Jonathan flung open the heavy oak door by the ornamental handle.

  
The inside resembled a museum with the labyrinth of art displayed throughout. The pair weaved through sculptures and dioramas and canvases until Jonathan stopped them at the beginning of the rows that held several walls of photography.

  
“What exactly is this place? It looks like some sort of art gallery,” Steve wondered aloud.

  
“That because it is. A student gallery anyway. It started way back when the university opened,” Jonathan explained. “Every year a work is chosen to be housed in the gallery for…well, forever, I guess. Like a real museum.”

  
Steve studied the exhibits as he wound through the aisles. The pictures were beautiful, but if there was a deeper meaning to them, it was lost on him. He didn’t know much about photography, but he knew it was Jonathan’s passion, so he tried to be open to learning more about it. He still wasn’t quite sure why he brought him here, though.

  
Jonathan laid a hand on Steve’s forearm to halt his forward motion, suddenly nervous for some inexplicable reason. “See this year…this year my exhibit was chosen.”

  
“Wait, so your photos were picked to be hung up here? Out of the whole school?” Steve’s eyebrows shot up to his forehead. “That’s amazing, man! Really! Congratulations! Did you tell Will or your mom yet?”

  
“Whoa! Slow down! You’re the first person I’ve told. It, like, just happened, but I wanted you to be able to see it for yourself since you are a big part of it.” Jonathan was gradually leading him in a specific direction, toward the center of the section. “I maybe cheated a little since I had technically already taken the photographs, but I sifted through them and used my favorites. See, one of my photography projects this year was to shoot a current inspirational figure. I chose you, Steve.”

  
Jonathan let that sink in while he slowed their pace considerably, guiding Steve to a spot in a front of a wall with his image plastered all over it. Steve’s mouth open and closed like a fish, striving to comprehend what Jonathan had just said and gazing in awe at his work. Most of the snapshots were in black and white and were ones he had never seen before of just himself, although he recognized the timing of some of them as moments where Jonathan would have had his camera in hand.

  
“See, um, that’s probably why people were staring. Between this exhibit, my classes, the photos all over my dorm room, and the like, twenty phone calls I made every day, a lot of people here know who you are. Or at least, recognize your face. You’re kinda a quasi-celebrity here.” Jonathan shoved his hand into his back pockets, toeing the ground shyly as Steve remained incapable of speech.

  
Steve traced the prints lightly with his index finger. There was a black and white photograph of him sitting in the chair next to the hospital bed, head turned towards the window and eyes shut as the filtered sunlight illuminated his face. He could tell it was one of his first days getting chemo because he still had all of his hair and the bandage from the surgery was still visible on his neck. There was another similar pose in the chemo suite from one of the times Jonathan had accompanied him, the blanket bunched in his fist and his shirt riding down his chest, pulled down by the tubing and uncovering the port for all to gawk at. In some, he had the feeding tube – like the photo with Jonathan and Nancy in the garden outside the hospital - and some he didn’t. But the most shocking picture of all was of him crouched by the toilet, back sagging against the wall and head propped up by his arm, clearly having just finished one of many numerous cycles of vomiting. It was a brutal image, but starkly _real_ as it captured all the misery and pain he was experiencing in that moment.

  
Not every photo was so graphic. Steve’s eyes scanned the variety of pictures. The cheerier ones were in color: him braiding Max’s hair, dancing, being chased with water balloons, or just laughing with the kids, in general. Seeing himself through someone else’s lens was quite jarring and unexpectedly poignant. There were a million feelings coursing through him at once: sorrow, disbelief, embarrassment, elation, pride, fondness. They were coming so fast he couldn’t land on any one emotion.

  
Jonathan mistook Steve’s prolonged silence negatively. “I probably should’ve asked your permission first. I know you wanted pictures with the kids and all, but some of the photos I took are…intense, I guess is a good word for it. But I just couldn’t help myself. When I started this project, we weren’t sure if you were going to make it and it seemed like a good idea at the time. If something happened…I just wanted your story to be told, is all. I wanted to immortalize you somehow, Steve.”

  
The paralysis finally broken, Steve pulled his gaze from the wall and turned to Jonathan, his eyes suspiciously wet. “Wow. Just wow. This is incredible. Thank you.”

  
Jonathan’s shoulders sagged in relief. He was proud of his work, but he wasn’t sure how Steve would respond to something so deeply personal being on public display. Neither boy was particularly the tactile type, but he pulled Steve in for a hug just the same. “I’m glad you like, don’t hate it.”

  
“Not at all.” Steve unwound his arms from around Jonathan and swiped a hand across his nose. “I mean, it’s a little weird to see yourself so…exposed, I guess. But, I don’t know, it’s kinda cool. And the idea behind it is _definitely_ flattering.”

  
“Thanks,” Jonathan gave him a small smile as Steve resumed viewing the exhibit, his lips parted in residual wonderment. Jonathan had spent quite a bit of time in this building as it was one of his favorites, but he allowed Steve to take whatever time he needed to absorb it all. When he indicated he was ready, they exited the building and continued on the casual tour.

  
Steve pointed at a large rectangular, non-descript brick building. It only stood out because it was the only plain, ordinary building on campus. “What’s in here?”

  
“Oh. That’s a gym. Why they put a gym on an artistic campus, I’ll never know. It’s always empty.” Jonathan trudged along, not even giving the building much of a second glance.

  
Steve’s expression brightened. “Let’s go in.”

  
Even if Jonathan wanted to protest, the other teen was depressing the metal handle of the door and disappearing inside before he had the chance. He found Steve by a rack of basketballs, looking wistful and running his hand over the bumpy, orange surfaces before selecting one and palming it. The former athlete let the ball bounce between his right hand and the floor in a slow dribble.

  
Steve then alternated between hands, picking up speed with each bounce of the ball as if shaking the rust off and testing out his old skills. When the ball slapped against the boards it echoed loudly in the empty gymnasium. “Guard me.”

  
“What,” Jonathan was flabbergasted by the request.

  
“It means, don’t let me shoot a basket. Try to get the ball away from me,” Steve continued to flick his wrists, adeptly sending the ball to the floor and back again. “You know, guard me.”

  
“Yeah, I know what it means.” Jonathan may not have fallen prey to the male sports stereotype, but that didn’t mean he was completely ignorant of the terms. Steve reiterated his desire by merely pointing to Jonathan’s messenger bag and subsequently to the stands indicating for him to put his stuff down which the other boy reluctantly did. “You’re crazy.”

  
Steve only grinned and made a break for the basket, tennis shoes squeaking sharply with each footfall. Jonathan didn’t so much stop him as create a laughable obstacle, arms flailing about like a helpless octopus. He had no idea what he was doing and was normally no match for the former star of the high school basketball team.

  
Somehow Jonathan was able to keep himself between Steve and the basket as he flung his arms wildly in the air, feeling ridiculous as Steve faked shot after shot before driving his body solidly and firmly into Jonathan’s to get to his goal. Jonathan wasn’t sure what the point of this was, but it seemed to make the other boy happy, so he kept at it until they were close enough that Steve fired off a basket for real. Jonathan followed the perfect arc of the ball with his eyes as it swished through the white netting, not noticing the other teen clutching at his abdomen. “Steve! Steve, are you okay?”

  
The ball had completed its designated path and ricocheted off the base of the rubber mat on the wall, rolling lazily back to their feet. Steve picked it up one-handed and sent it hurtling against the padded backdrop before doubling over again. “Goddammit!”

  
Jonathan laid a hand on his friend’s sweaty back and gently led him over to the bleachers where he sat him down. It was only then that he noticed just how hard and irregular the other boy was panting. “What’s wrong? Do we need to take you to the ER?”

  
“No. Fuuuuck,” Steve let out a noise of frustration as he dropped his head in his hands. “It’s been six months that I’ve been in remission. _Six months_ , and I don’t understand why I _still_ can’t do the things I did before. I just want things to go back to _normal_.”

  
Jonathan’s hand migrated from between Steve’s shoulder blades to cup the back of his neck in support. “Yeah, you’ve been cancer-free for six months, but _five_ months ago you nearly died and didn’t get out of the hospital until _four_ months ago. And it’s only been, what, a month since you’ve been done with chemo? Give yourself a break. I’m sure it just takes time. I mean, what do the doctors say?”

  
“The same. Just to be patient and it will come back. But Jesus Christ, I just want this nightmare to be over already,” Steve wasn’t prone to self-pity very often, but he was only human and couldn’t help but to wallow in it now and then.

  
Jonathan didn’t have any good response to that. Anything that came out of his mouth would sound patronizing and Steve certainly didn’t need that right now. Sometimes there was nothing you _could_ say. Sometimes listening was all that could be done. He clasped Steve’s neck tighter.

  
They sat in silence for a few moments. It seemed Steve had nothing further to say on the matter, so Jonathan changed the subject. “So, those papers you were going to work on? What were those all about?”

  
“Oh, those? Job applications.” Steve scratched at his head. “You know the new mall they’re putting in, in Hawkins? I figured I’d try there. I really, really want to stop relying on my parents for money and get the hell out of that house.”

  
“That’s understandable and admirable and all, but shouldn’t you give yourself more time to recover? You know, take it easy for awhile,” Jonathan asked worriedly.

  
“God, you sound like Hopper,” Steve chuckled without any humor behind it.

  
“Yeah, well, he has a point. I mean, look what just happened.” Jonathan hated to bring it up again, and certainly after all he’d been through, Steve above all people deserved the freedom to do as he pleased, but Jonathan couldn’t help but agree with the policeman out of concern.

  
“Look, it’ll just be a couple of days a week. Retail. Food. I don’t know. I’ve got to do something, and college isn’t an option for me and probably never will be. I can’t just sit around being useless all day for the rest of my life,” Steve exploded.

  
“Steve, you’re anything but useless. C’mon man, don’t do that. Yes, your health has placed limitations on you. Temporarily,” Jonathan stressed. “But even if it wasn’t temporary, you have so much more to offer than filling a position at some menial job.”

  
“I really just need to buy some time.” Steve chewed on his lip, debating on revealing his hopes and dreams for the future. “You know Hopper said he wanted me to think about joining the force before all this. I thought maybe if I give it enough time, I still might be able to…Never mind. It’s stupid.”

  
Jonathan was surprised by the admission, but he shouldn’t have been. It made complete sense given Steve’s protective instincts and willingness to put himself at risk for others. “It’s not stupid at all. In fact, I think it’s great! I totally see it.”

  
Steve wore an uncertain expression. “Really?”

  
“Really,” Jonathan confirmed. “You should definitely look into it more.”

  
The two boys had progressed in their relationship enough that one could confide in the other, and sound advice could be offered that the other could reflect on. Steve definitely appreciated that – now more than ever. “Thanks.”

  
“Anytime.”

  
The rest of the visit was considerably more light-hearted. Steve filled out his applications while Jonathan finished his project. There were a few parties to attend, and Steve was introduced around and gaped at like he was a scientific specimen. At least now he understood _why_ people were so interested in a virtual stranger.

  
The ride home, although long, was amicable and generally pleasant. The two boys stuffed their faces with fast food, and Jonathan was pleased to see Steve eat a full meal for the first time in as long as he could remember. They both enjoyed the calm before the graduation storm that was about to hit when they returned home to Hawkins.

  
Steve wasn’t even in his house for two full hours before Dustin accosted him, contacting him frantically on their private frequency. He begged to come over immediately, stating that it was urgent. Actually, the exact words he used were: “it was super important and top secret.”

  
Before Steve could even open the front door all the way, Dustin was assaulting him with words and jumping into the reason for his visit. “Do you know what Wednesday is? Do you?”

  
“Of course I do. Hawkins Middle School is finally getting rid of all you nerds,” Steve smirked at him as he closed the door.

  
“Hahaha. Very funny.” Dustin’s voice didn’t have the usual teasing bite to it as he perched himself on the end of the sofa. “I’m impressed that you remembered, actually.”

  
“You all have only mentioned it about a thousand times,” Steve quipped sarcastically.

  
“You’re coming right,” Dustin asked tentatively, hands fidgeting on his knees.

  
“Try and stop me.” Steve jutted out a hip and placed his hand on it, studying his younger friend. Dustin was visibly anxious, bordering on distressed. “I thought you knew that. What’s this about, Dusty?”

  
The uncertainty was palpable, but Dustin had come this far and wasn’t about to back down now. “See, everyone is given at least three tickets. You can get more if you need more, but... Mike and Lucas obviously use all theirs’ with their sisters and all. Hell, I think even the Hargroves are making Billy come for Max. And Hopper and El are coming with Mrs. Byers and Jonathan for Will. But…but…I just have my mom…”

  
It was painful to watch Dustin flounder like that, but Steve knew he had to get it out, so he sat down next to him and lightly rested his hand on the other teen’s shoulder, patiently waiting for him to complete his thought.

  
“Steve, could you…I mean, can you…I’d really like it if…Shit. Shit. Shit. You’re like my older brother, so would you go as one of my plus-ones?” Dustin rushed out the last bit and winced as if expecting Steve to say ‘no’.

  
Steve tugged gently on Dustin’s shoulder until he fell into the older boy’s outstretched arms. Steve rested his chin on Dustin’s curly mop as he held him. “Of course, I will. I wouldn’t miss it. I just assumed I _was_ going as _your_ guest. I’m sorry if I didn’t make that clearer.”

  
“Thanks, Steve,” Dustin’s whole body seemed to exhale in relief. “Graduating’s great and all, but it wouldn’t be the same if you weren’t there.” He seemed to have more to add, but was debating on whether to say it or not. “I’m just so glad you’re here right now at all because you almost weren’t.”

  
“I know,” Steve squeezed tighter, knowing Dustin needed the comfort of physical contact – specifically from _him_ \- although the younger teen would never admit it out loud. The whole situation had been difficult on everyone, but even with all the time that had passed, Dustin seemed to still be taking it the hardest. All Steve could do to reassure him was be present and just _be_. “Me too.”

  
Dustin extricated himself from the lengthy hug. “You’re the best, Steve.”

  
“I know that, too,” the older teen joked. “Hey, whaddya say we order a pizza and watch a movie?” Dustin eagerly nodded at the suggestion.

  
Graduation went off without a hitch. Steve cheered obnoxiously loudly for all the kids, but especially Dustin, who was the only kid who didn’t pretend to roll their eyes at his antics. He stood idly by as they all got their pictures taken with their diplomas, and then their respective families.

  
When it was Dustin’s turn, he stayed off to the side and out of the way while still be able to get a full view of his beaming face.

  
“Okay, Mom. Big brother. Your turn to get in the shot,” the photographer instructed.

  
Steve parted his lips to contradict the photographer’s assumption, but Dustin beat him to the punch. “Yeah, _big brother_. You have to get in here.”

  
He turned to Claudia, baffled at what to do. “Come on, dear. Picture time.”

  
He was speechless, but when he finally found his voice, he murmured a weak protest. “No. You don’t need me in it. It’s a special occasion. You should have a photo with just you and your son.”

  
“Nonsense. The graduate wants you to be in it – and so do I. It’d be nice to have a photo with both my boys. C’mon,” she urged. “Don’t disappoint us.”

  
His parents had said those three words to him many times, but somehow when Claudia Henderson said those same words, it filled him with warmth instead of despair. He allowed her to take him by the shoulders and guide him beside Dustin. The smile he showed to the camera was one hundred percent authentic and penetrated his eyes until they crinkled at the corners and positively sparkled.

  
There was graduation party after graduation party to attend in the days following. Steve had kept himself busy in between time getting the pool cleaned for the summer, and starting his new job scooping ice cream alongside a former classmate that he only vaguely remembered. It was only a couple days of week – which Hopper still expressed his opposition to – but it was something. The only drawback was the outrageous sailor uniform he had to don.

  
Overall, every one of them would look back on that period of time as one of the best summers of their lives. The kids had graduated and were getting ready to go off to high school, but they were still in the phase where they could just be carefree kids instead of worrying about the future or fighting monsters. After a discussion between Hopper and Dr. Owens, it was agreed upon that El could even join the rest of them at school in the fall. The heat had subsided enough, and she had caught up academically. Jonathan and Nancy had come back for the summer, and secured internships with the local paper in their prospective fields. And most of them had boyfriends or girlfriends, and the ones that didn’t still had each other. And most important of all, Steve was still cancer-free, healthy, and growing stronger every day. His general malaise had abated, and his appetite had returned full force, illustrated by his now full and rosy cheeks.

  
Spirits soared and the laughter fell from their lips in abundance. Steve was delighted that he had convinced the kids to get outside more and make good use of his pool, although he still wouldn’t allow them to swim if he wasn’t present or after the sun set for reasons they all understood.

  
The only hiccup encountered in their summer joy was Steve’s parents deciding to drop in for an impromptu visit during their preplanned, combined group graduation and Fourth of July celebration, but Steve refused to allow it to darken his mood. He had wasted too much energy that he really didn’t have to spare on people that didn’t give two shits about him, and he had confessed as much to Hopper while he was manning the grill, who had wholeheartedly supported him.

  
The Harringtons sat stiffly poolside, looking vaguely uncomfortable, but trying to cover it with terse politeness. The kids congregated around Steve as he shuttled food from the kitchen to the patio. “Alright, back you heathens. Some of the rest of us would like to eat, too.”

  
The other four adults and older teens were off to the side, whispering amongst themselves. “Has Steve’s parents even spoken a word to him,” Nancy commented angrily.

  
“If they did, I certainly didn’t hear them,” Jonathan stated sadly.

  
“Me neither. How can a parent almost lose their child, not bother to see him, and basically ignore him when they finally do?” The fire of fury had been lit within Joyce. “No, really. I’d like to know. I’m going to go over there and _drag_ the answer out of their sanctimonious asses!”

  
“As much as I’d like to see that, I think we should at least try to be civil for Steve’s sake,” Hopper took a swig of his beer as he patted Joyce’s leg to calm her down.

  
“Well, if I can’t go over there and rip them a new one, I’m at least gonna go over there and _talk_ to them about what a wonderful son they have. You know, guilt trip them with kindness,” Joyce snatched her coverup out of Hopper’s reaching grasp and closed it tighter around her waist as she marched around the edge of the pool.

  
“Christ,” Hopper muttered under his breath as the three of them got up to follow her.

  
Joyce stood for a moment before sitting down, uninvited. She made several false attempts to say something before she settled on, “Will you just look at the _joy_ on all their faces? Those kids absolutely adore Steve, and I’m pretty sure the feeling’s mutual. He so good with them. It’s really something, isn’t it?”

  
“It is certainly something, I suppose,” Mr. Harrington said flatly as he sipped on his beverage.

  
“And all their parents, Hopper and I included, think very highly of him. Steve has such a good head on his shoulders and is so responsible and protective of them.”

  
Steve’s father made a noise low in his throat. “ ‘Responsible’ is not a word one would generally associate with Steven.”

  
Joyce felt her temper flare. “Well, _we_ do. And so do his bosses.”

  
Mrs. Harrington chose that moment to chime in. “Ah, yes. His _job_. Working for minimum wage and wearing such a demeaning outfit while doing so is not necessarily something to be proud of. If it’s money he’s after, we provide him plenty of that.”

  
“It’s not _about_ the money. At least, not directly. Steve just wants some _normalcy_ in his life. And to get away –“ The volume of Joyce’s voice escalated as it became tight with resentment on Steve’s behalf.

  
Hopper clapped her harshly on the shoulder, intentionally interrupting her before she went too far. “Joyce,” he warned.

  
“No, Hop! His parents need to know –“

  
“No, they don’t,” the policeman openly contradicted her. “Now’s not the time.”

  
“Steve says to come on. Dinner’s ready,” Will sweetly informed them, effectively tabling the developing argument for the time being.

  
There was a thread of tension laced throughout the dinner that the kids picked up on and attempted to unravel. They interjected with raves about the food, and El even requested shyly that Steve teach her how to cook.

  
“I never knew you to be such a chef, Steven.” That statement could be taken two ways – as a compliment, or as Mrs. Harrington’s tone suggested, derisively.

  
This did not pass by Joyce’s motherly radar. “I guess he had to learn at some point if he wanted to eat, didn’t he?” Hopper kicked her ankle not-so-discreetly under the table.

  
Dustin shifted his concentration from the restrained bickering of the adults to the countenance of his friend whose face was tightly drawn with the hurt the backhanded insults inflicted. As dinner was wrapping up, he wanted to rescue him however he could. “You’re going to get in the pool with us after dinner, right?” Steve gave him a doubtful look. “C’mon, you promised.”

  
“I guess,” Steve capitulated. “But after we wait a half hour.”

  
“C’mon, Steve. That’s just an old wives’ tale,” Mike grumbled.

  
“Those are the rules, Wheeler. Take it or leave it,” Steve stared the younger boy down until Mike broke eye contact. “Besides, I have to clean up. By the time I’m finished we should be able to get in. I have cake for after.”

  
“Holy shit. I mean holy…moly,” Lucas hilariously and uncomfortably corrected himself in front of the adults. “You baked, too? Your desserts are awesome! Steve, you spoil us.”

  
“Aw shucks, Sinclair. Are you trying to butter me up for a bigger piece or something?” Steve began stacking empty plates and gathering utensils to clear the table as he gave Lucas a wink. “Well, it worked.”

  
The kids helped Steve clean up by taking any uneaten food back to the kitchen and packing it away. Joyce just looked smugly at the Harringtons. Everything she had said about Steve was exemplified during the meal, but the parents still seemed unimpressed by their son. This left her fuming even more.

  
The entire group of teens passed by the chairs the adults had migrated to by the side of the pool, capturing Joyce’s attention and letting her annoyance momentarily fade, but it was reignited after the subsequent exchange.

  
Steve had changed into bright blue swim trunks, but his t-shirt remained on. He started to sink his foot into the chlorinated water before Dustin stopped him. “Dude, will you just take off your t-shirt already? Every time you get out of the pool with it on, you sit there shivering in wet clothes until your lips turn blue. That’s something I never want to see again, okay?” Steve flicked his gaze nervously between Dustin and the adults which the younger boy noticed and sympathized with as he stepped closer and lowered his voice. “We’ve all seen it and it doesn’t matter to us, okay? And if it matters to _them_ , then well…screw ‘em.”

  
The older boy paused briefly, clearly warring with his insecurities. Ultimately, the guilt of reminding any of the kids of his near-death health crisis, however remote, outweighed the shame he felt baring himself in front of his parents. He carefully stripped off his shirt and tossed it over the lounge chair and was met by Dustin’s approving smile.

  
The Harringtons were blatantly staring at the medical device implanted in their son’s chest. Their appalled reaction almost set Joyce off again, but Nancy guided her into the house to prevent any further outburst on her part. Meanwhile, Jonathan had been pulled into a game of chicken the children were beginning to engage in, placing Will upon his shoulders. Max was raised onto Lucas’ shoulders while Mike lifted El onto his. That left Dustin looking pleadingly at Steve. “Fine,” he sighed in mock exasperation. “But try not to kick me again or your ass is grass.”

  
Hopper took the opportunity of all the distractions to plop down in a chair next to the couple. He had two cold beers in his hand and offered one to Mr. Harrington who shook his head in refusal. “Ah well, more for me.” He popped the tab and slurped at the foam on the top.

  
The trio sat in relative silence for several minutes. The jubilant shrieks that came from the pool as the kids splashed and chased each other drew a smile from the Chief’s lips as he fumbled for his pack of cigarettes in his pocket. Hopper shook one out and lit it. After inhaling and exhaling a large drag, he kept it pinched between his first two fingers as he pointed with them to the front of the lounge chairs the Harringtons now occupied. “Right there.”

  
“Excuse me,” Mrs. Harrington played with her necklace, puzzled.

  
“Right there. In front of where you’re sitting. Right there is where we found Steve unconscious on New Year’s Eve.” Hopper kept his hand steady as he stretched it further out. “Right there is where he stopped breathing. _Right there_ is where your son almost _died_.”

  
“I – I had no idea,” Mrs. Harrington whispered as she continued fiddling with the delicate gold chain.

  
“Yeah, ya did. I called you and told you personally,” Hopper said bluntly as his gaze drifted towards the rippling water.

  
Dustin’s back hit the water with a tremendous _smack_. He came out of the depths, spluttering. “What the hell, Steve? You let go of me!”

  
“Well, if you weren’t wiggling so much, Henderson, I could’ve held on.” Steve smoothly dove under the surface and reemerged with Dustin raised effortlessly atop his slim shoulders. “And lay off the potato chips next time. Jesus, you’re heavy.”

  
Hopper grinned at the banter before growing somber again as he addressed Steve’s parents. “That man right there. The one you call your son? He is a walking, living, breathing miracle. And you two don’t seem to give a damn. You can’t even be bothered to visit him when he spent another _month_ in the hospital, and yet another month after that on oxygen and regaining the strength to walk on his own. You treat him like the dirt on the bottom of your shoe instead of the incredible kid he is. The kid that battled back from beating cancer and then cheating death. Why is that?”

  
“I don’t know what kind of answer you’re looking for, but how dare you come into my home and question my parenting skills. Especially with your track record,” Mr. Harrington sneered.

  
“Oh, I dare. You see this is just a house. Four walls and a roof. Steve – and those kids – make this a _home_. Not you.” Hopper’s voice dropped dangerously low and even as he leaned close enough to be in the father’s face. “I stopped Joyce from saying it earlier, but I’ll tell you now. Steve took that job to get out of this house and away from you. And quite frankly, if he’d let me, I’d pack him up right now and get him the hell out of this loveless house.”

  
“That sounds like a threat, Sheriff.” Mr. Harrington swirled the scotch around in his glass. “If Steven has so much of a problem with us and this house, then I suppose he has a problem with our money, too. We can rectify that.”

  
Hopper’s nose was nearly touching the other man’s. “ _That_ wasn’t a threat, but this is: if you cut Steve off or drop him from your insurance that he so badly needs to get the medical care he requires, your tax records – or lack of them – will be brought to the attention of the Feds. Need I say more?”

  
Mr. Harrington swallowed hard around the jagged little pill Hopper fed him, but wisely held his tongue.

  
“Another word of advice,” Hopper added. “It’s Steve’s choice whether you’re in his life or not, but if you can’t offer him the love and support he deserves, then just stay the hell away from him. You not being there at all hurts him way less than the type of treatment he received today. Steve’s had enough pain these last few months, and I’ll be goddamned if I’m going to let you cause him any more.”

  
With that said, Hopper got up and joined Joyce and Nancy in the house to let the Harringtons stew in their own self-absorbed thoughts. Steve remained oblivious to the turmoil, and Hopper wanted to keep it that way, knowing that he had already experienced more than his fair share.

  
Hopper remained in the house until dusk when Steve herded the kids out of the pool. The group sat, happily consuming the cake as they drip-dried. Steve pulled his t-shirt back on and threw his parents furtive glances throughout the evening until they retired to bed with only a clipped, ‘goodnight’. Steve really wasn’t all that surprised when he woke up to find they had already vacated the premises.

  
In the back half of summer, Steve picked up another day in his weekly shift. Two days a week were going well, so he decided to try for a third. It was confounding, just how disproportionately more exhausted he was by adding just one measly extra day. The kids were aware of this and took to hanging at the mall more as an excuse to check up on Steve.

  
Not to say that they didn’t find plenty to do. They enlisted Steve to help them sneak into movies which he did begrudgingly. Sometimes they browsed the numerous stores or just hung out at the food court, but they always made a point to swing by the ice cream shop to see Steve. Even Erica would drop in with her own friends from time to time, asking Robin for the ‘sailor man’ if he wasn’t immediately out front.

  
By mid-August Robin had grown more than a little annoyed at the stream of pre-pubescent teens that never seemed to let a day go by without popping in unannounced. And even more infuriating was when she confronted Steve about why he had so many younger friends that insisted on visiting him at work, he shrugged disinterestedly and refused to offer any kind of explanation.

  
She had never _hated_ Steve, but had little use for him and the things that he seemed to hold in high esteem back then like popularity, sports, being Prom King, and most of all, himself. The Steve she worked with now was light years from the one she knew – or assumed she knew – back in high school. He was quieter and more reserved. More serious and less… _flashy_. Even his hairstyle was toned down.

  
Teasing him about his lack of intelligence, or any other transgression she could conjure up from high school, was no longer fun. Instead of his previous sassy, loud mouth that yapped constantly in class, the best she could elicit from the former King Steve was an occasional half-hearted sarcastic comment. Robin couldn’t fathom what had changed so drastically in a comparatively short period of time, but she was soon to find out. And it would smash to pieces all the preconceived notions she held against him.

  
Robin didn’t work side-by-side with Steve _all_ the time – just most of the time. She was by herself, wiping down the counter when the curly-headed kid marched in. “Your buddy’s not here. He isn’t working today.”

  
Dustin planted himself in front of the counter. “I know. I didn’t come to see him. I was hoping you’d be here. I came to see you.”

  
“Yeah, why’s that,” Robin tried to seem bored, but was honestly curious.

  
“You work with Steve a lot, don’t you?” Dustin picked at the napkin dispenser as he awaited her response. She nodded and waved her hand in the air impatiently for him to continue. “Well, see the thing is we start high school in a couple weeks –“

  
“Congratulations,” Robin deadpanned.

  
“Aaaand, anyway,” Dustin made a face at her. “The thing is I need to ask you a favor.”

  
“What in the world could I possibly do for you, you strange child?” Robin threw the rag on the counter and crossed her arms. “And what makes you think I’d help you, anyway?”

  
“Because it has to do with Steve. And you can deny it all you want, but despite all the shit you give him, deep down you actually like him and therefore, care about him,” Dustin wisely assessed.

  
“He was a total douche in high school,” Robin tried to object, but her tone was laced with doubt.

  
“No, he wasn’t. Not really. That was just your perception. Steve was oblivious, but never malicious,” Dustin openly disagreed with her. “Besides, he’s not like you think you remember.”

  
She thought back over her interactions – or lack of – with the upperclassmen and realized what Dustin said was accurate. The truth the younger boy spoke gave her pause. “So, what is it exactly that you want from me?”

  
“With us going back to school and all, we can’t come in and check on him as often. Don’t give me that look. I know you noticed,” Dustin called her out.

  
“I’m going back to school too, you know,” Robin informed him.

  
“Yeah, I know, but you’re a senior and have most of your prerequisites which means you have all your classes in the morning. Ergo, your afternoons are free to keep your work schedule the same,” Dustin pointed out the obvious.

  
“What are you, like a spy or something?” Robin was more than a little creeped out by his familiarity with her upcoming schedule.

  
“No, I’m an aspiring scientist. And scientists do their research,” Dustin impatiently explained. “So, could you please keep an eye on him for us?”

  
“Why should I keep an eye on him? He’s a big boy and can look out for himself,” Robin tried for apathetic irritation but the questions came out with more unsurety than anything.

  
“Just…he’s seemed really tired and rundown lately. Could you maybe, like, I don’t know, make him take a break or something if he seems…off,” Dustin tried desperately to convey his worry, but was failing to adequately express it.

  
“Of _course_ he’s run down. He’s working more. So, what do you want me to do? You expect me to handle all the customers while Steve props his feet up and doesn’t break a sweat on that pretty head of his? I don’t think so,” Robin scoffed at the perceived insinuation.

  
“No, it’s more than that. Look, there are things you don’t understand. Things you don’t know. And if Steve didn’t tell you these things already, I’m not sure I should. Just…trust me. Please? It’s important,” Dustin pleaded.

  
“If it’s so important, then enlighten me. How am I supposed to keep an eye on your precious friend if I don’t even know what I’m looking _for_?” Robin leaned on the counter, her arms still crossed tightly and invading the boy’s space to appear intimidating.

  
Dustin looked skywards and seemed to have an internal argument with himself. “Let’s just say Steve’s had some serious health scares in the past year plus and leave it at that.”

  
“Let’s not. What, did the poor little rich boy have a nose job gone bad or something,” Robin wittily retorted, not backing down from her stance.

  
“I’m fucking serious,” Dustin barely restrained the desire to scream it at her at the top of his lungs. He refused to be deterred from his mission by her shitty attitude.

  
Something in the boy’s words and demeanor stopped Robin cold in her tracks. She may not have been on good terms with Steve back then, but she could see the teen in front of her was not playing around and she wasn’t completely heartless. “Alright, I’m sorry. Really. But if I’m going to really help you – and Steve – it would be better if I knew everything so I could look out for anything weird or out of the ordinary and prevent him from overdoing it.”

  
“I guess you have a valid point. But you can’t let on to Steve that you know, alright? If he didn’t tell you outright, it might upset him to know you know.” Dustin held out his pinky. “Swear to me.”

  
Robin started to laugh at the childish symbolic gesture, but wisely stopped herself and held out her finger. “Promise. Got it.”

  
Dustin took a deep breath before beginning. “Steve nearly died on New Year’s Eve. Pneumonia. He was on a ventilator and in the hospital for a month. Recovery was a bitch, but that wasn’t even the toughest thing he’s had to deal with over the last year. See, he was actually in remission when he contracted the pneumonia, and he’s been there for about nine months now.”

  
“Remission? As in cancer?” Robin’s eyebrows met her hairline in disbelief as Dustin nodded. “Holy shit.”

  
“Yeah. Holy shit. He’s in remission now, like I said, but a relapse is always possible. His last treatment was only four months ago. And Steve really doesn’t have an off switch. He’ll keep pushing himself until he collapses which is kinda what happened with the pneumonia. He can’t fight things off like we can. We almost lost him for good – and it wasn’t even directly from the cancer. Which can always come back. Now do you see why we’re always in here and so worried about him,” Dustin’s voice trailed off to a broken whisper.

  
“Yeah, I totally get it now,” Robin said softly, everything clicking into place. No college transcripts or career aspirations beyond the ice cream shop. The shorter hair. The different attitude. The barrage of nosy children. The air of fatigue that hung around him like an aura. Never in her wildest dreams would she have entertained the possibility that King Steve’s life was anything but picture perfect. The joke was on her because all this time she had disdain for someone that seemed to only care about superficialities, but _she_ was the one actually judging a book by its cover. And she couldn’t have been more off the mark.

  
“So, will you do it,” Dustin asked, more hopefully this time.

  
“Yeah. Yeah, totally,” Robin nodded, her brows furrowed in deep thought. “What um, what type?”

  
“He has a type of Leukemia. AML. He’s been cleared, but again, you know, that could change at any time. It doesn’t, um, it doesn’t have very good statistics and just the thought of him… He means a lot to us. So, thank you,” Dustin said sincerely. “Really. Thank you.”

  
“Sure,” she replied numbly as she watched him walk out, processing all the information she had been assaulted with. It shocked her to her very core, but there were tears in the corner of her eyes for her former classmate and coworker that just this morning she would’ve argued she wouldn’t spare a second glance to. Now her thoughts were overrun with Steve and his well-being.

  
Robin spent her next day off in the library, much like Dustin had done in the beginning, combing through book after book on the subject. She checked out a few promising ones and curled up with them at night, voraciously learning as much as she could about the disease – what signs and symptoms to watch out for, treatments and the after effects, and anything else that might be useful.

  
Her fervor paid off the following week during the next shift she worked alongside Steve. It was a sweltering day at the end of August – the kind where the temperature was already at a balmy eighty-five degrees at nine in the morning. The thermometer on the inside of the mall was quickly approximating that same value because the air conditioner had gone on the fritz the night before.

  
“Ugh, who keeps an ice cream shop open in the heat,” Robin complained. “This stuff is going to be soup.”

  
Steve just shrugged tiredly. “I guess they figure the freezer’s working, so…. Besides, what food do you want most when it’s hot outside?”

  
“Ice cream,” they said in unison.

  
The after-lunch rush came, and the stream of people were unrelenting. Robin was hot and sticky and uncomfortable, but Steve looked absolutely dead on his feet as he swiped a bead of sweat off his flaming red cheek. His brunette locks were plastered messily to his forehead. “Steve, it’s your turn for a break. Why don’t you go? I’ve got this.”

  
“Are you kidding? There’s like ten people in line,” Steve protested. “I’m not leaving you high and dry.”

  
Robin really didn’t have time to argue with him. They disposed of the line rather quickly, and mercifully, no new customers came through the door. Robin gripped Steve’s bicep over his blue sailor top and tugged him in the direction of the back room. “Break. Now. Sit.”

  
As soon as Steve was led over to a chair and his butt hit the seat, he was up again. “I’m fine. Really, Robin. I don’t need a break.”

  
“Mmmhmm. Yeah, you’re looking spectacular.” Robin pushed on his shoulders until he sat down again, her fingertips unknowingly grazing the edges of the port. She registered the sensation, but didn’t comment on it. “Just shut up and sit there, Harrington.”

  
Just to be contrary, Steve got up again rather quickly to give a sarcastic reply, but he never got the chance. Robin watched as his complexion went from rather pale to a startlingly waxy, snow white. Even the bright red of his cheeks faded out, as if someone had opened a valve and drained all the color out of his body. His knees bent as he slowly sank towards the floor. Robin rushed over to catch him and settle him safely in the seat. She barely made it.

  
“Put your head down. And for God’s sake, don’t move, dingus,” Robin instructed as she scurried around, trying to figure out what to do for him. Her eyes landed on the walk-in and it sparked an idea.

  
It took her longer than she expected to get everything ready, and Robin really hoped Steve was still conscious. If he wasn’t, her next course of action would have to be to call an ambulance which she was sure he would be pissed about. Thankfully, he was awake, but still not looking any better than when she had left him. “Do you think you can walk? I want to get you laying down someplace cooler.”

  
Steve sluggishly nodded, so she threw one of his arms around her shoulders and helped him up. He staggered alongside her to the walk-in refrigerator where she had spread out one blanket on the floor and folded a second one into a makeshift pillow. She eased him down until he was completely horizontal.

  
Robin placed a clean, cold rag on his forehead and situated his feet on an empty, upside down milk crate. She pulled up a second milk crate for herself to sit on and rested a shaky hand on his clammy shin. Steve’s eyes were closed, and his skin was still so white it was practically translucent. This episode had scared her more than she had the luxury of time to admit. It was one thing to read about the illness or talk about it in the abstract, but to witness it firsthand made her fully comprehend the level of fear the younger teens lived with every day on behalf of their friend. And if this was their constant level of fear from the outside looking in, she shuddered to think what Steve felt going through it himself. And he never said a word to her about it.

  
The bell on the front counter dinged and Robin groaned internally. Steve’s eyes popped open and he started to prop himself up. “Stay laying down, dingus. I got this.”

  
He actually obeyed her which was a testament to just how lousy he must be feeling. For the next half hour Robin alternated between waiting on customers and checking on Steve who hadn’t moved a muscle in all that time.

  
Robin finally had enough and flipped the sign to ‘closed’. She would get shit if the bosses ever found out, but her coworker was more important. She could always explain that there was a medical emergency which was the absolute truth. Steve’s eyes tracked her lazily as she reappeared in the doorway of the walk-in. “Hey, you feeling any better?”

  
“Yes, thank you.” Steve removed the rag from his forehead and laid it on his chest. “I think I just got overheated.”

  
“Steve, I’m hot too, but I didn’t almost pass out.” Robin bit her lip, hesitant to make the suggestion and raise his suspicions that she knew more than she was saying, but she decided it was worth it. “I think you should either go to the ER or make an appointment with your doctor.”

  
“What? For this? I just got too hot, Robin. That’s all,” Steve claimed indignantly.

  
“Steve,” Robin started, almost apologetically. “You and I both know that that might be true, but it’s more likely that it’s something...more.”

  
Steve rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms, awareness blossoming. “The little shits told you, didn’t they?”

  
Robin held up a finger. “Well, it was really just one little shit.”

  
“Dustin.” It was a statement, not a question.

  
Robin nodded in affirmation. “But don’t be pissed at him. The reason he told me was in case something like _this_ happened. Which it did.”

  
“I’m not pissed. I-“ Steve flopped his hands onto the floor in frustration. “It’s just, when people look at me that’s all they tend to see. I can’t even blink wrong without one of them assuming it’s _that_ and I need to go to the hospital to get checked out. I don’t want to go back there. I don’t.”

  
“I can’t even imagine how you feel, but I still think you _do_ need to get checked out to be on the safe side. Do it for them so they don’t worry, if nothing else.” Robin folded herself back onto the milk crate. Steve sat up abruptly. “Hey, easy, dingus.”

  
“Please don’t tell them, Robin. Please,” Steve pleaded. “It really _will_ make them worry over nothing. I just got overheated. That’s all. I swear. I’m not even dizzy anymore. See,” he said as he stood as if to prove it, his voice climbing to a higher register in his desperation.

  
Robin’s heart twanged with sympathy over his concern for the kids’ feelings while struggling with his own physical difficulties. “Okay. I’ll keep it to myself. For now. On two conditions. One, you go home when you feel up to it. Two, you call your doctor and make an appointment.”

  
“That’s fair. I can do that,” Steve agreed readily as he moved out into the back room. “I think I can go now. I’m okay. Really. Thanks for everything.”

  
“Sure. Go home and get some rest. Don’t forget to call the doctor,” she called after his retreating form. “And take care of yourself, dingus.”

  
Steve had every intention of fulfilling both promises – just not right away. He _did_ go home and crawl into bed after a cool shower, but the phone call to the doctor would have to be put off until next week. He had promised to take the kids to their first day of high school, and he was looking forward to it almost as much as they were. When had he become such a proud parent? Either way, he wasn’t going to let one off day get in the way of something he so badly wanted to do. He would be fine until then.

  
There were thankfully no more episodes during the following week, but Steve just could not get his brain to focus no matter how hard he tried. He could not shake the fatigue that seemed to be his constant, yet familiar, companion as he picked Dustin up before school. It had become a ritual to retrieve him first before the others to spend more time with him, but Steve’s concentration kept straying from Dustin, who was avidly trying to get his attention. “Earth to Steve. Are you even listening to me?”

  
“Sorry. What?” Steve reached forward to turn the radio down to hear his friend better. Dustin grabbed his arm roughly, anything he was about to say immediately forgotten. “Dude, what the hell? I’m trying to drive here in case you haven’t noticed.”

  
“ ‘What the hell’, me? ‘What the hell’, you? Have you seen your arm lately,” Dustin asked, almost accusatory.

  
“Yeah, it’s my arm. Duh, dipshit.” Steve put the car in park, Dustin’s hand still attached, outside of Lucas’ house.

  
Dustin still hadn’t released his arm, twisting it so the forearm was visible and pointing to it. “Are these new?”

  
Steve glanced down at his arm peppered with the purplish marks that Dustin was referring to, not revealing that he was nearly as alarmed at their appearance as his friend was. “These? No. No, of course not.”

  
“Then where did they come from? They weren’t there last week,” the younger boy astutely observed.

  
“From work,” Steve said shortly.

  
“From work,” Dustin repeated dubiously. “Even the one on the inside of your wrist?”

  
“Sure. I hit it all the time on the freezer when I’m scooping out ice cream.” Steve’s explanation seemed plausible enough to his own ears.

  
“Let me see your other arm.” Dustin reached for Steve’s left arm and wouldn’t stop until he surrendered up his limb for inspection. There were fewer marks there, but still bruises present, nonetheless. “Steve! When’s your next checkup?”

  
“Like a month, I think. Why?” The question was unnecessary. Steve knew _why_ he was asking.

  
“Move it up,” Dustin commanded. When he saw the look Steve gave him, he doubled down on his resolve. “Call the doctor. _Promise me_.” Steve hesitated a second too long. “Steve! _Promise_!”

  
“Okay! Okay, I promise! Happy now?” Steve honked the horn to let Lucas know they were here – and to get out of the conversation. “Can we drop it now?”

  
Steve grew uncomfortable under Dustin’s analytical stare. It was a relief when Lucas launched himself into the backseat and babbled excitedly about their first day as he drove on to the next house. The energetic chatter of the kids was a welcome distraction from the paranoia over his health. Dustin was the only one not his usual talkative self.

  
The older boy pulled up in front of his alma mater and waited patiently as the group of kids extricated themselves from the vehicle. He wished them luck and reminded them he’d be back to pick them up at three o’clock. They waved cheerfully at him as he drove away, most blissfully oblivious of the dark cloud that hung over the car. Only Dustin stared at the BMW a little longer as it became smaller in the distance.

  
By the time he arrived home, Steve had worked himself up into a panic over Dustin’s observation. He parked the car crookedly and hastily shut off the engine. He tripped over his own feet as he flew up the stairs and skidded to a halt in front of the full-length mirror in his bedroom.

  
Steve took a deep breath to steel himself before yanking off his polo shirt. His lithe fingers traced every colorful splotch on his torso and chest. He twisted at an impossible angle to view the black and blue blemishes that ran up and down his spine, devastated, yet unsurprised when he discovered them. It was a safe bet that there would be more on his thighs if he removed his shorts.

  
Steve felt as if he was floating, becoming disassociated from his physical self. He reached out and placed a hand against the mirror, the cool glass grounding him to reality as he faced the reflection of his treacherous body. Steve’s head fell dejectedly onto the shiny surface as he drew in several short, shaky breaths to calm the tears that involuntarily sprang to his eyes. His shoulders drooped with the weight of the knowledge that he would have no choice but to keep his promises to both Robin and Dustin despite his valiant effort to avoid doing so. No amount of pretending or wishing it away could dispute the cold, hard evidence in front of him. The dark bruises. The way he felt. The almost passing out. Steve knew _it_ was back. _It_ was happening again.

  
And he didn’t know if he was strong enough to deal with it a second time.


	11. I Will Not Kiss You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's cancer has returned, and with it comes a lot of changes and difficult conversations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so thankful that people are still interested in this story. Thank you so much for the continued comments, reads, and kudos! This was a *monster* of a chapter to get out. It's longer and very dialogue heavy. It doesn't cover a very big timeline, but there was already so much packed into it that I had to cut it off somewhere. TWs for panic attack. I meant it as shock, but it could definitely be read as a panic attack. TW for discussion of sexuality. I'm really nervous about that part. I'm not personally LGBTQ +, but I have people that I love dearly and are very close to that are. I tried to hit all the right notes and be as respectful as possible when giving Robin's POV, but I know not having gone through it I can't truly know what it feels like. Please forgive any discrepancies and know it came from a place of love. I tried to retain as much dialogue from the show as possible, but it still had to fit the story. Slight TW for side effects (but it's just beginning so the next part will be worse). As always, please take care of yourself and stay healthy, and happy reading!

“Steve? Are you listening, son?” Hopper’s meaty palm rested between the teenager’s sharp shoulder blades that were tensely drawn together and hunched. He spoke very low and soft, meticulously eliminating any trace of the ever-present impatient edge in his voice and handling the boy with atypical tenderness – a tenderness that was reserved for only those select few that had taken up residence in the usually brusque policeman’s heart. “Did you hear what the doctor just said to you?”

  
Steve sat rigidly still, bookended by Hopper and Joyce in cheap plastic chairs strategically placed opposite the doctor who loomed over them from behind his large desk, file opened ominously before him. He chewed on a thumbnail as he stared absently into space, only giving a brief jerk of his head to indicate he had been following along to some degree. “Y-yeah. Yeah. Higher dosages. Aggressive. Bone marrow transplant.”

  
Joyce’s eyes narrowed to down-turned slits and her lips pursed as she fought to control her emotions at Steve’s methodical repetition of the doctor’s prognosis. Her hand slid into the area below Jim’s, and she rubbed soothing circles onto Steve’s lower back. “Sweetie, do you have any questions?”

  
Inwardly Steve screamed out: _Yes, I have a very important question. Two, actually. I did everything I was supposed to. Why didn’t it work? Why is this happening to me again?_ Outwardly, the teenager only shook his head numbly as Joyce accepted the appointment cards and the paperwork that would probably lay in a pile, never to be read by him before Wednesday when the nightmarish whirlwind began again. Steve allowed himself to be led out of the office and down the hall like he was a puppet and Joyce and Hopper were his marionettes.

  
The trio almost made it down the full length of the hallway to the elevators before Steve stopped abruptly and blurted out, “The kids! I’m supposed to pick them up this afternoon.” His eyes darted around the bright white walls wildly as if he were a trapped animal with no escape.

  
Joyce cupped his cheeks with both her hands to draw his focus and attempt to center him, but his eyes continued to flit around restlessly, never settling on one thing. “Honey, it’s okay. It’s okay. I’ll take care of it.”

  
Steve brought his hands up and loosely encircled her wrists with his icy fingers, his next words cracked and desperate. “But – but they’ll wonder why…”

  
Joyce’s thumb stroked along the boy’s cheekbone that was damp with cold sweat. She brushed away an errant tear that Steve didn’t even realize in his stupor had fallen. “I’ll figure something out. Don’t worry. I’ll make up some excuse to buy some time until you decide what you want to tell them.”

  
The force of the knowledge that he would have to deliver such news again to his younger friends and disrupt their fairly newly acquired, relatively normal and carefree lives slammed into him like a freight train. How could he dare to destroy the happiness they strove so hard to hold on to? How could he possibly do this to them again? Steve’s chest heaved up and down with gathering speed until he was gasping at a rate far too rapid to be effective. Air. The air was too thick and there wasn’t enough. His throat whistled as he struggled to take in what little oxygen he could. He simply couldn’t draw any adequate breaths and his body shook with the effort. Oh God, he was going to suffocate right here, in the middle of the hospital hallway. More tears sprung to his eyes and blurred his already tunneling vision. His hands fluttered weakly around Joyce’s wrists as she held on more tightly to his face. Her voice seemed to come from very far away:

  
“Jim? Jim, I think he might be in some sort of shock.” Joyce pulled Steve into the safety of her arms as she laid his head upon her shoulder, cupping the back and combing her fingers comfortingly through the brunette hair. His stuttered breaths were hot and moist against the collar of her shirt. “Sweetie, I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

  
Hopper peeled Steve away from Joyce with some difficulty and searched his unfocused eyes. “Kid? Kid, are you with us? I need you to look at me, Steve.” He stayed in that bent position, trying to get the teenager’s breathing in sync with his own. After what felt like an eternity, Steve seemed to awaken and mercifully locked eyes with him, sending a wave of relief crashing into the Chief. “C’mon. Let’s you get home now so you can lay down. We’ll talk about things later, but right now you need some rest.”

  
Steve sat robotically in the passenger seat of Hopper’s cruiser as Joyce stared longingly at the pair before getting into her own car and heading towards the high school. Hopper hoisted himself into the driver’s seat and stuck the key in the ignition before shutting his door. He was never very good at these sorts of things, but taking into account what just happened and getting a full view of the boy beside him, there was no other option but to try. The smudged window appeared to be the only thing holding up Steve’s upper half as he leaned against it, his eyes vacant and hollow and staring at nothing. Hopper would do anything to ease the weight of the burden Steve carried on his impossibly young and fragile shoulders.

  
The oppressive silence was interrupted by an almost inaudible broken whisper. “I don’t know if I can do this again.”

  
The tiny, but impactful admission was heart-stopping. Fueled by his past experience, that simple sentence was bursting with all the fear and hurt and uncertainty and complete trepidation over what was yet to come. The storm of emotions radiated off of the teen to a degree that it was palpable to the police chief. Steve’s multi-colored irises reflected just how lost and scared and alone he felt. Just how afraid and hopeless. The boy, with that one declaration, sounded as if had relinquished all faith and the policeman just couldn’t allow Steve to indulge in a line of thinking that sounded just a bit too close to giving up -even if he didn’t really mean it. Hopper searched his heart even harder for the right words and the right thing to do, and prayed he could be whatever strength Steve needed in that moment.

  
The engine idled roughly as Hopper finally turned in his seat and slowly pulled Steve away from the cool glass to clutch him to his chest, his body practically vibrating with fine tremors. Hopper just kept the boy there for a moment, letting him cling to him like a life preserver, before finally opening his mouth. “I know you’re tired and I know you don’t think you can, but you can, Steve! You hear me? You can do this!” Steve tried to push away, but the policeman just held on tighter. “Listen to me. I know it wasn’t easy last time. I’m not gonna lie, this time’s gonna be hard, too. Probably harder. But you’re one of the strongest and most courageous kids I’ve ever met. The things you’ve done and what you’ve already survived prove that. I can’t pretend to know how you feel. Not really. But what I do know is, you’ve beat it once and you can do it again! You’ve got this! And those times – those times you don’t think you do, _we_ got _you_. Okay? We got you.”

  
The tide of sorrow poured out of Steve in torrential waves. Hopper’s imperfect, yet meaningful words had broken the dam and shattered him. The sobs were ripped forcefully from his throat and he was unable to stifle them. Steve felt himself cradled and rocked with a security he had never experienced as a small child, only feeling it for the first time as a sick adult. It just didn’t seem fair that it wasn’t until tragedy struck that he received the love and care he had yearned so long for. This fact only made him cry harder.

  
Eventually, Steve had calmed down enough for the pair to make it back to the Harrington residence. Hopper escorted Steve mechanically up the stairs and guided him into bed, removing his shoes and tucking the covers around him as if he were a little kid. “I’m not trying to abandon you, but I think you probably need some time alone. When you’re ready, you know where to find me. We’ll talk then.”

  
It was several hours later before Steve found himself trudging back down the stairs wearily. At some point he must have fallen asleep, mentally exhausted from this morning’s events. Hopper clicked the remote off at the sound of the footfalls on the wooden steps. “Feeling any better?”

  
“More human, at least. Thanks.” Steve joined Hopper on the couch and flopped down.

  
Hopper rested an outstretched arm across the back of the sofa and let his hand fall onto Steve’s shoulder. “You hungry at all?”

  
“Not even a little bit. And please, don’t make me and give me some spiel about how I need to store up the calories because of what’s coming. I’ll just puke it up right now anyway,” Steve said as a look of distaste passed over his features.

  
“That’s…not what I was gonna say at all.” The doorbell rang and Hopper answered it, paying the delivery driver and accepting his food. “I was gonna say I ordered a pizza and I hope you don’t mind if I eat while we talk because I. am. famished.”

  
Despite the darkness that overshadowed the day, Steve found himself chuckling at Hopper and how pleasantly ordinary the exchange was. “Knock yourself out. Sooooo…what do you want to talk about -besides the obvious?”

  
“Well, first,” Hopper tore off a large slice of pizza, “clearly the kids are gonna be told, but how do you want it to happen? Do you want to do it, or would you rather Joyce or I tell them? And what about Nancy and Jonathan?”

  
Steve considered the choices for a moment, blowing out a breath that fluttered his bangs. “I guess it would be best if the kids heard it from me. As for Nancy and Jonathan…I think I’d rather one of you do it. I don’t think I can go through it twice.”

  
“Okay, we’ll take care of it.” Hopper chewed thoughtfully. “How do you want to do it? You wanna pick up the kids tomorrow and bring them to Joyce’s house so everyone’s together? Do it all at once like last time?”

  
“Yeah. Yeah, that’d be okay, I guess.” Steve adjusted his sock and rested his feet on the coffee table next to the pizza box. “Probably have to do it right away. They’re smart kids, and they’ll know something’s up if I just randomly pick them up on a day I’m not scheduled to.”

  
Hopper was devouring the pizza as he contemplated how he was going to address the delicate subject of the living situation when Steve shot forward. “Shit! Fuck! I’m supposed to work tomorrow!” The teenager deflated against the sofa cushions. “Guess I’m going to have to call tomorrow and quit. There’s no way I’m going to be able to keep working…is there?”

  
“No. But again, that’s something I can handle for you if you want me to,” the policeman offered as he wiped the grease off his fingers with a napkin and used the clean digits to pat Steve reassuringly on the knee. The teenager nodded absently. “Okay. Done.”

  
So many things were once again going to radically change for Steve, and he was going to have to surrender any tenuous sense of normalcy that he’d been able to rebuild in his life. Hopper was loathe to add to the upheaval, but it was for the good of the teenager’s precarious health and like a balm to the policeman’s own peace of mind. He just hoped that Steve would be able to see it that way. “Have you given any thought as to what’s going to happen after you get out of the hospital this time?”

  
Steve knitted his brows together in confusion, not following where Hopper was going initially. “What do you mean?”

  
“Well…I wasn’t entirely comfortable with you coming back to this house with no one to be here for you the last time, but we were able to make it work. This time, though, the kids are back in school and Nancy and Jonathan are away at college. I just…knowing how hard it was on you before and how much trouble you ultimately had with the stairs and your pain level…With the higher dosage it’ll probably be worse, and I would personally feel better if you were somewhere where Joyce or I could consistently take care of you. Someplace preferably smaller and easier to get around – and without stairs.” Hopper sized up Steve’s reaction as he began to make his case for the teenager to move in with either himself or Joyce. “Besides, once they find a donor, you’re going to need a lot of help after the transplant.”

  
Steve sat dumbfounded by this newest revelation. Of all the topics on the agenda to discuss, he certainly wasn’t expecting that to be one of them. The rational part of his brain knew what Hopper said made a lot of sense, but the illogical part wanted to rail against any further disruptions and grasp at whatever familiarity he could salvage in his already chaotic and out of control existence. Where he resided may not have been a place where he was entirely at ease, but it was the only home he had ever known. “So, where – where would I go?”

  
Hopper swiped a napkin across his sandy mustache. “Welp, the two best options are my place or Joyce’s. But, at the end of the day, it’s wherever you feel most comfortable.”

  
A thumb rose to his mouth to be chewed on – a new anxious habit Steve had picked up during the course of his illness. He stopped himself and tucked the hand back under his other arm as he hugged himself tightly. “Well, your place is really small, so I don’t see it fitting three people comfortably. No offense,” Steve added hurriedly. “And El is still…adjusting to things. It might be too much for her to have me underfoot and sick all the time.”

  
Hopper smiled kindly at Steve’s concern regarding El’s ongoing development and reintegration into the real world despite his own dire circumstances. “No offense taken. It’s true. But El’s a tough kid. They all are – including you. She’d be okay.”

  
“Did Mrs. Byers ever clean out the extra room,” Steve inquired.

  
“Yeah, she did. Joyce actually got organized, believe it or not,” Hopper gave a soft laugh.

  
“I’ve stayed there before and all so, then I guess, as long as I’m not taking Jonathan’s room…her house might be the best choice. As long as she and Will and Jonathan are okay with it,” Steve said reluctantly, knowing it was for the best, but not making the cut of having to leave his childhood home – however unhappy it was – sting any less.

  
Hopper reached out a hand to touch the teen’s shoulder that was bunched so high it was practically near his ear. “They’re more than okay with it. I know this isn’t exactly ideal or what you necessarily want, but for what it’s worth, you just made a very mature, very right decision.”

  
“Yeah, well, I’ve been wanting to move away from my parents since, like, forever. I just never thought it would happen like this. Like, at all,” Steve lamented, mourning a life he may never get to have. It was just one more thing to add to the long list that this bastard of an illness had robbed him of. “I thought I’d be living on my own and doing my own thing by now, not burdening someone else with all my shit and dooming them to a sentence of looking after a problem child that can’t even take care of himself half the time.”

  
Hopper’s hand slid up to Steve’s neck and clasped it. “I know, kid. I know. But also know this: we all love having you around. So, don’t _ever_ call yourself a burden, okay? We _want_ to take care of you. In fact, we actually fought over who would get the honor. Joyce is going to be so damn smug after this, it isn’t funny. She’ll be unbearable, you know that right? And when Dustin finds out, he’s going to be relentless trying to get you to move in with him and Claudia instead.”

  
Steve laughed despite himself because everything Hopper had said was the truth. Dustin would have a conniption fit when he found out Steve chose to stay with Mrs. Byers instead of him and his wonderful mother. He sighed. Once again everything was so messed up. Steve deliberated on whether to share with Hopper his original plans for the next year or not and came to the conclusion that after all the police chief had done for him, he deserved to know just how positively he had influenced him. Steve withdrew a folded-up piece of paper from his pocket. “You know what really sucks about all this? Besides the obvious, I mean.”

  
Hopper accepted the offered paper and unfolded it, puzzled. His eyes widened as he read. “You filled out the application.”

  
“Yeah, um, I was going to start physically conditioning. You know, get myself in shape, so if I got accepted…I let myself believe I could actually have a future. I don’t what I was thinking. Stupid, huh?” Steve spit out the rhetorical, self-deprecating question as if it left a bad taste in his mouth.

  
“Aw, kid.” There was absolutely nothing else Hopper could say that would soften any of the blows the boy had been dealt – the blows that just kept coming. Telling Steve everything would be okay and would work out for the best would just be empty platitudes that insulted his intelligence because _none of it_ was okay, and there was no guarantee it would end up in his favor. Hopper regarded the teenager’s defeated posture and eyelids weighed down heavily by sadness and utter exhaustion despite his earlier nap. “You’ve had a helluva day. There’s some more logistics to go over, but we can work out the details later. I think you could use a break.”

  
Steve hummed his response, too drained to verbalize anymore. He felt himself being tugged sideways until his head was cushioned by a pillow situated on the police chief’s lap. A blanket was draped overtop him and he snuggled into it, barely registering the drone of the tv as it was clicked on. Hopper’s body leaned forward to retrieve the pizza off the coffee table. “Go to sleep, Steve. I ain’t going anywhere anytime soon.”

  
“ ‘Kay,” he mumbled. “Just don’t drop any cheese on my head.”

  
The deep rumble of laughter that erupted from Hopper originated from deep within his stomach, subsequently jostling Steve’s head. “Deal,” he agreed, laying his unoccupied hand upon the teenager’s thick head of hair, threading his fingers through it while he still could.

  
When Steve awoke the next day, there was a note where the pizza box had been the day before:

  
_Hey kid,_   
_You were sawing logs pretty good there and I didn’t want to wake you._   
_Leftover pizza’s in the fridge. Eat it! See you at Joyce’s later._   
_Hop_

  
Steve grinned to himself at the man’s care-laced directness as he hauled himself into the shower in preparation to collect the kids from school. He had crashed hard, not waking until early afternoon. Per Hopper’s instructions, he grabbed a couple cold slices out of the box and carried it with him to the car so he could eat as he drove. He just prayed it would stay down.

  
By the time he reached the school parking lot his stomach had wound itself into knots and the pizza was sitting in there like a ball of lead. Staying in the car only increased his anxiety, so Steve got out and tried to appear casual as he crossed his legs and leaned up against the metal machine while he awaited the kids. His one foot tapped nervously against the asphalt.

  
It wasn’t as if the kids would be angry or shun him for being ill again. The nerves buzzing through his body were less about the fear of losing his friends, but more rooted in guilt. The remorse he felt at usurping the illusion of their peaceful existence consumed him, and he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to completely forgive himself for the way this disease had infected all of them.

  
“Steve,” Lucas exclaimed as he picked up speed on the way to the BMW, excited to see the older teenager.

  
“What are you doing here? I thought you had to work today,” Max furrowed her brow as she adjusted the strap of her backpack over her shoulder.

  
“My schedule changed,” Steve simply explained. He left out the part that it had changed _permanently_.

  
“Mom said this morning that we were all going back to my house after school. Is that right, Steve,” Will’s face brightened at the thought of an impromptu mid-week gathering.

  
“Yep. So, bags in the trunk,” Steve smiled at the group, but it faltered slightly with the knowledge that this wasn’t going to be the happy occasion Will was innocently envisioning.

  
“Wait, what,” Dustin paused as the rest of this kids piled into the backseat, El on Mike’s lap. It wasn’t exactly prudent to transport kids like that, but given it was a fairly short distance and Steve would be extremely careful – and the Chief of Police was aware of the situation – he was pretty sure it’d be safe enough.

  
“Don’t question it, Henderson. Just get in,” Steve instructed dryly. Dustin stared after him suspiciously, but complied.

  
Dustin dissected his friend with his eyes, inspecting every visible part of him. It might’ve only been a trick of the light, but had Steve grown thinner? Parts of his face were more angular, while other areas appeared slightly swollen. The shadows that traced Steve’s jawline over the swollen areas formed a dismal matching set with the darkness painted beneath his lower eyelids that blinked long and slow with fatigue in front of his spaced-out gaze. The twelve bruises – that was five more than Dustin had counted last week – were spreading like ink stains across the hand and forearm that rested atop the gearshift.

  
The younger teen yanked up the sleeve of his windbreaker and frantically shoved his arm against the older boy’s in comparison. Dustin’s olive skin was positively brown in contrast to Steve’s milky white, pale complexion, highlighting the black and blue marks all the more. Oscillating his attention back and forth between their two arms and his friend’s worn and drawn face, realization punched Dustin square in the gut like a sledgehammer and he couldn’t possibly stand being in the car for even one more second watching Steve calmly, outwardly pretend that everything was okay for their sake while on the inside he was once again slowly being destroyed by his own blood cells and the weight of that knowledge that he carried nearly alone. “Steve. Pull over, Steve.”

  
Steve’s eyes flicked apprehensively between the road and Dustin, understanding with sick dread that the younger boy had figured it out. It didn’t stop him from trying to keep up the ruse a little longer. “What? Why? We’re halfway to the Byers’ already, and in the middle of Main Street, for Christ’s sake.”

  
“Cut the bullshit. I know, alright,” Dustin muttered sadly, low enough for only the two of them to hear, placing his smaller hand on Steve’s forearm and outlining one of the bruises with a finger. “Please, just pull over.”

  
Steve sighed in resignation and let the car drift into an unoccupied space, ironically in front of Melvald’s of all places. He briefly wondered if Mrs. Byers was inside and wished for her presence to help him get through this. The side of the road was the last place he foresaw this happening.

  
“What’s going on? Why are we stopping,” Mike asked from the back seat, irritated.

  
“Stop asking questions and get out of the car already, Wheeler,” Max shoved against his back after witnessing the driver and front passenger exit the car without explanation and move to the front of the vehicle. Mike grumbled, but obeyed.

  
The group of kids gathered in a bewildered huddle on the sidewalk. El shifted her wide eyes from person to person, trying to comprehend what was going on while the others searched each other for the answer. Dustin’s and Steve’s attention were riveted to one another, no one else existing in that moment as they held an entire silent conversation solely with a look passing between them. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

  
Steve parted his lips to respond with another denial forming in his throat, but changed his mind at the last second and merely nodded as he collapsed in a heap onto the hood of the car, still warm from the engine. He crossed his arms and wrapped them around himself as if he had caught a chill despite than hotter-than-average September day.

  
Lucas threw his hands in the air. “Will someone please clue the rest of us in on what the hell you’re talking about?”

  
Will, always the most intuitive of the bunch, could sense something was off immediately and gave Steve’s bicep an encouraging squeeze. “Guys! Whatever it is, is serious. So, what’s wrong, Steve? Dustin?”

  
“Tell them, Steve,” Dustin urged him.

  
Steve brought a thumb up to his chin, but refrained from chewing on it. His eyes were distant as he nodded to himself, psyching himself up for what was about to transpire. “Right, okay. My work schedule didn’t change. I quit. Well, technically Hopper called and quit for me.”

  
“How come,” Max probed, a sinking feeling gnawing in her gut.

  
“Yeah, I know the sailor uniform was a bit ridiculous and all, but I didn’t think you minded it _that much_ ,” Lucas weakly joked.

  
“Guys, c’mon. Let Steve talk,” Will lightly chastised The Party while simultaneously prompting Steve to speak.

  
“Jobs like that, they don’t have leave, and I um, won’t be able to – able to work for awhile.” Steve’s thumb finally made its way into his mouth and he bit down on the short nail to soothe his frayed nerves. This was not how he wanted this conversation to go at all. In his head he had pictured something with a little more finesse and a lot more tact, but Dustin had already worked it out for himself and it wouldn’t be long before the others did, too - even if he didn’t tell them directly. But the right way to say it just wouldn’t come. Steve kept his eyes averted to the ground, unable to take the devastated looks he was about to put on their confused, but happy faces with his next fumbling and clumsy words. “See the thing is…the thing is…well, shit, I don’t know how to say this, so I’m just gonna come out and say it. Something’s happened, and um…well…Guys, I’m sick again. I’ve relapsed. The cancer’s back.”

  
The ensuing stunned silence mirrored the hush that fell over the room the first time he dropped the news onto the kids. Steve kept his eyes trained on the concrete, too terrified to glance up at their reactions until Max involuntarily drew his gaze in response to her question: “Are – are they sure?”

  
“Yeah, Max. They’re sure,” Steve whispered regrettably.

  
“Oh, Steve. Sonuvabitch,” Dustin sorrowfully breathed out as he laced his hands behind his head and paced towards his friend. He already knew his deduction was correct, but hearing his friend confirm it out loud made it all the more real and horrible, somehow.

  
Dustin’s utterance was the catalyst that sent all six pairs of arms flying to surround Steve, cleaving onto him and burying their heads into any available nook and cranny they could find on his body to not only provide him comfort, but seeking it themselves, as well. They all clung onto him fiercely, but with the utmost care so as to not cause him any more harm in his delicate state.

  
The cluster of kids hanging onto the older boy presented quite the sight, and was drawing several onlookers. Joyce noticed the ruckus and came out of the drugstore to see what all the fuss was. She spotted Steve in the middle of the crushing sets of outstretched limbs and caught his eye as she made her way over.

  
“They know,” he told her succinctly.

  
She could’ve guessed that, but her heart contracted painfully in her chest at his simple, forlorn admission. Joyce strode forward and bracketed his weary face lovingly in her hands. “Oh, honey.” She fought against the other arms to pull Steve into her own embrace, stroking his hair affectionately. “I’m basically off now. Do you want me to get them home?”

  
Steve sniffled against her shoulder. “No, that’s okay. We’ll stick to the original plan. They’ll still have lots of questions that I could honestly use your’s and Hopper’s help with.”

  
“Okay, sweetie.” Joyce pressed Steve harder to her briefly and then released him. “I’ll see you back home in a bit.”

  
“ ‘Kay,” Steve managed to squeak out and then in a much stronger voice addressed the kids. “Guys. Guys! People are staring. Could we move this thing back to Will’s house? Please?”

  
No one argued with Steve’s plea, not wanting to give him any more grief in a time like this. They all climbed back into the BMW and put their seatbelts on without being told. The car ride was thick with woe and eerily quiet to the point it was unnerving to Steve. Usually, the chatter and bickering were ceaseless.

  
Upon arrival to the Byers’, Will dug in his backpack for his house key and ran ahead to unlock the door. Both Steve and Will let everyone file in ahead of them. Will held up the key. “Guess we’re going to have to get you one of your own soon.”

  
Steve’s mouth formed a small ‘o’ in surprise. “So, I take it you know about that already?” Will nodded eagerly. “Guess that makes sense,” he muttered to himself. “Are you okay with it?”

  
“More than okay! I really liked having you here last time, and now that I know the reason why, I’m like, doubly okay with it because you really shouldn’t be alone. Especially now.” Will’s enthusiasm diminished the more he spoke. “Although, I wish you were coming to live with us because you wanted to and not because you’re sick like last time, if that makes sense.”

  
“Totally. And for the record, I _do_ want to, and I _did_ like living here and having the company. I wish it was for a happier reason, too, but I’m really glad you’re cool with it.” Steve ruffled Will’s hair as the pair stepped into the living room. A series of questions were fired at him as soon as he crossed the threshold. Steve held up his hands. “I know you have a million things you want to ask, but can you at least wait until Hopper and Mrs. Byers get here so we can do it all at once? I’m really tired and kinda feel like shit. I could honestly use a break, and I’m sure you all have homework that could be done in the meantime.”

  
Steve rarely, if ever, readily divulged the full extent of his symptoms without some serious prying on the children’s part, much to their chagrin. The fact that he was stating it so openly hopefully meant some progress had been made on that front since the last go-around, but what it _definitely_ meant for sure, was that he was truly feeling lousy. Therefore, none of them fought him on this point and obediently took out their books.

  
El lightly pulled on his wrist and led him over to the couch. “You rest. We study.”

  
Once he was horizontal, Steve let his eyes slide blissfully shut. There was a soft tapping on his head. El had brought him a pillow and was gently prodding him with it. “More comfortable.” He smiled at her in appreciation as he shoved it under his aching head. The other five kids followed suit with offerings of their own. Will brought him a blanket and Dustin set a glass of water on the coffee table. Max and Lucas brought a snack and a bottle of ibuprofen. Once they were satisfied that Steve had everything he needed within easy reach, they returned to their homework. Steve yawned sleepily and drifted off effortlessly with the help of his six little caretakers.

  
Dishes clattered in the kitchen as Steve gradually came back to consciousness. He pushed himself upright and realized Hopper was sitting in the armchair adjacent to the couch. Steve rubbed at the kink in his neck. “How long was I out?”

  
Hopper tore his attention away from the T.V. “Oh, hey kid. Welcome back to the land of the living. Dinner’s in the oven, Joyce is on the phone with Jonathan, and we already talked to the kids, so about three hours. Thanks for making them do their homework, by the way. El still isn’t used to it and fights me on it.”

  
Steve took a few minutes to process all the information being filtered through his sleep-addled brain. “Wait, what? So, you already answered _all_ their questions?”

  
“Yep, and Jesus, were there a lot of them,” Hopper halfheartedly groused, only pretending to be irritated but really in awe of the group’s intelligence and deep emotional connection to the boy in front of him. “Those kids…they care about all of us, of course – Nancy and Jonathan included, but with you? With you it’s different. They are so protective of you and really, really love you Steve.”

  
“I know. I really love those knuckleheads, too,” Steve said fondly as he played with the fringe on the blanket, slightly hesitating before continuing on with his train of thought. “That’s why I hate days like today. I hate that I’m hurting them so much.”

  
“They’re not hurting _because of_ you. They’re hurting _for_ you. There’s a big difference, so stop feeling guilty,” Hopper directed bluntly, pointing a finger at Steve who had whipped his head around in surprise at the policeman’s accurate assessment. “Joyce and I told them everything. That it’s worse than last time. The higher dosage and the more intense treatment. You living here. The bone marrow transplant and what that would look like before and after. And do you know what was the first thing they wanted to do?”

  
“Go to the library,” Steve guessed based on Dustin’s initial request when this all began.

  
“Actually, that was the second thing. The _first thing_ …,” Hopper emphasized. “The first thing was rush to the phone to beg their parents to let them be tested as donors. They actually had a full-blown argument over whose bone marrow would be better for you.”

  
Steve absorbed this. On one hand, it made his heart swell and overflow with warmth, but on the other hand it filled him with despair. “God, that’s really sweet, but I – I – I couldn’t let them…I don’t want them to deal with _any_ of this. The thought of them going through that…”

  
“I know. They feel the same way about you. What’s hurting them the most is seeing you so ill again and being powerless to really do anything about it.” Hopper leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “Look, you and I both know that the best shot for a match is a sibling which you don’t have, so the chances of it being one of them is virtually nonexistent. But this way, they get to feel like they’re doing _something_ – even if it doesn’t work out.”

  
Steve mulled this over. Hopper was right, of course, but he detested the thought of any of his friends being poked with needles on his behalf. It was bad enough that he had to live it, but to see them undergo even a fraction of what he did would break his heart. Ultimately, it wasn’t his decision to make, but he could try to talk them out of it.

  
Joyce tiptoed into the living room expecting the teenager to still be sleeping, but appearing relieved that he wasn’t. “Oh good. You’re up. Jonathan’s on the phone and hoped to talk to you if you’re feeling up to it.”

  
Without directly answering, Steve got to his feet and started to follow Joyce into the kitchen, but Hopper halted him with a whisper in his ear. “And don’t try to talk them out it. By the way, Joyce and I are getting tested, too.” Steve, for the second time today, turned his head in awe at the man who had seemingly read his mind - again. Was he that predictable?

  
The mustard yellow handset lay on the kitchen table. Steve snatched it up as Joyce put the finishing touches on dinner. “Hey man.”

  
“Hey.” There was a long pause from the other end of the line. “I don’t want to ask if you’re okay because obviously, but… _are_ you? Okay, I mean.”

  
Steve sighed as he twisted the cord around his finger. _Was_ he? That was the million-dollar question. “Mostly. Just really, really tired all the time. I actually just woke up for the second time today.”

  
“I’m sorry,” Jonathan apologized, and not just for potentially waking his friend. For everything he was going through. “I didn’t want to bother you. I just wanted to let you know I’m going to call Nancy, so you’ll probably be getting a phone call from her soon.”

  
“Thanks, man. I really appreciate that. She’s going to freak, and I don’t know if I can handle that right now,” Steve admitted softly into the receiver.

  
“Yeah, she is,” Jonathan agreed, then added regretfully, “Steve, I really wish I could be there for you and help out somehow.”

  
“I know, but you are helping by calling her. Trust me,” Steve reiterated.

  
“I know you have a lot going on right now. I don’t want to keep you. Like I said, I just wanted to check on you.” Jonathan debated before confessing his main reason for speaking with Steve, finally coming to the conclusion that now wasn’t the time to hold back. “That’s not entirely true. I just really, really wanted to hear your voice, you know…in case…before…”

  
Steve let his head thump against the wall that the phone was attached to, fighting the lump that formed in his throat at Jonathan’s raw honesty. Of course, that scenario had crossed his mind. It was always lingering in the back of his head like a dormant bomb waiting to go off, but he couldn’t dwell on it if he was going to get through this. And he couldn’t let the rest of them, either. It was important that he steady his voice so it would sound convincing. “I’ll be here when you come home again, so don’t worry, okay? I will. You can tell Nance I said that, too.”

  
“Believe me, I will.” Jonathan breathed out a fake, watery laugh. “Oh, and Steve?”

  
“Yeah?”

  
There weren’t a lot of things to be happy about in a situation like this, but Jonathan followed Steve’s lead in being positive and acknowledging at least one of the silver linings. “I’m glad we’re going to be roommates again.”

  
“Me too.” Steve smiled at Jonathan’s statement. “Thanks for being so cool about sharing your house and family with me.”

  
“Steve! You’re part of our family, too. Haven’t you figured that out by now,” Jonathan playfully admonished.

  
“Still…thank you,” Steve said sincerely.

  
“You’re welcome. Take care of yourself, okay? Really,” Jonathan said growing solemn again.

  
“I will. You too. Goodbye, Jonathan,” Steve ended the call.

  
“Goodbye,” Jonathan placed the receiver back in its cradle, disconnecting the call. He dug in his pockets for a handful of quarters which he kept on his person at all times since last winter. Normally, he jumped at the opportunity to talk to his girlfriend, but this was different. This would not be the usual dreamy, and somewhat flirty, talks they had. Jonathan needed to deliver the news as gently as possible without setting off the alarm bells, but he had no idea how to comfort Nancy when he was pretty shaken up himself. He waited with dread for her to come to the phone.

  
“Jonathan! Not that I’m not glad to hear from you, but we just saw each other a few weeks ago. To what do I owe the honor?” Nancy sounded as if she were walking on air, and Jonathan was going to have to be the one to send her plummeting and crashing back to Earth.

  
He dispensed with the pleasantries, deciding it better to get straight to the point and not draw it out. “It’s Steve –“

  
Nancy cut Jonathan off in a rush, heart flip-flopping with worry. “What happened? What’s wrong? Is he okay? Please don’t tell me-“

  
“Nancy,” Jonathan had to talk over her to get his reason for contacting her out. “Nancy, the cancer’s back. Steve relapsed.”

  
“What? No. He was _fine_ when we left,” was her tearful refute. “No, it can’t be. He was doing so well.”

  
“I just talked to my Mom – and him. It’s true. He checks into the hospital tomorrow to start treatment again. They want to start it as soon as possible,” Jonathan informed her.

  
The implicit insinuation of his words was not lost on her. “How – how bad is it?” When Nancy received no immediate response, her voice rose in pitch, demanding an answer. “How bad is it? Is – is he dy-…Is he? Tell me, Jonathan.”

  
“It’s pretty bad, but not as bad as you’re thinking,” Jonathan attempted to reassure her. “Statistically, a relapse doesn’t give him fantastic odds and things are bit more advanced than last time according to my Mom, but they’re getting more aggressive. Higher dosages, more intense, that sort of thing. They’re also going to start looking for a bone marrow donor. There’s still options, Nance, so we have to think positive.”

  
“We – we have to go home,” Nancy said with steely determination. “And I want to get tested.”

  
“I’m one hundred percent with you on the testing thing, but we should figure out how to do it from where we are. No matter how much we might want to, we can’t leave school, Nance,” Jonathan tried to rationalize with her, although he understood her motivation.

  
“What do you mean? Of course we can! College will still be here, but I’d never forgive myself if Steve…if Steve…while I was sitting behind a _desk_ somewhere, planning for my future while his is stolen from him,” Nancy choked out, growing hysterical.

  
“I understand how you feel, Nance. Really, I do. But…let me put it this way. My Mom said Dustin demanded that his mother let him skip school tomorrow afternoon so he could be with Steve when he starts chemotherapy again. You know how Dustin is when it comes to Steve. He wouldn’t take no for an answer, but they have purposefully not told Steve yet because they know he would somehow feel guilty about it and try to convince Dustin to go to school instead.” There was a long silence on the other end that indicated to Jonathan that he was breaking through a bit, so he pressed on. “If Dustin missing a couple of hours is going to make him feel bad, what do you think us completely leaving college behind is going to do to him?”

  
“But I just want to be there,” Nancy feebly protested.

  
“I know you do. So do I. But this isn’t about what’s best for us. This about what _Steve_ wants and what _Steve_ needs right now,” Jonathan stressed. “Anything else would just be selfish.”

  
Jonathan could audibly hear Nancy deflate over the telephone as she processed it all, her sorrow winning out over her resolve. “You’re right. Of course, you’re right. I just can’t stand the thought of him going through this again, and that we might never get a chance to…”

  
“I have a message from Steve,” Jonathan interrupted her intruding and dark thoughts, intending to offer a salve for her worries and encourage a more hopeful outlook by passing on their friend’s determined words. “He said to tell you that he’ll be there when we come home.”

  
Nancy let the tears fall freely after Jonathan delivered Steve’s message because it was just like him to say something like that. Steve’s world was crumbling down around him again, but yet he accurately anticipated the effect the news would have and selflessly attempted to make it easier on _them_. The waterworks she shed became a frequent occurrence over the next few days to the point that she would just break down in the middle of class without provocation. Her classmates would worriedly ask what was wrong, but Nancy couldn’t even get the words out to explain. The only thing that made her feel better at all was calling home.

  
Steve’s was the voice she really longed to hear, but he had so much to deal with at the moment that Nancy thought it best to wait. Joyce Byers was her point of contact last time, but she was so busy with Steve that it just wasn’t feasible. Her brother was probably the last person she wanted to discuss her ex-boyfriend with, and Mike was less-than-sensitive, so the next best choice was Dustin whom she was receiving a report from at that very moment.

  
The pounding at the door was relentless and the young teen hung up his phone call with Nancy in a huff. “Sonofabitch. A man tries to get a little schoolwork done and this is what happens.”

  
Dustin had sworn to Steve that he would finish the project that had been assigned on the day he had missed. Steve insisted he get it done before visiting him at the hospital today, so he had dutifully promised his friend that he would. And Dustin was _trying_ , but there were all these goddamned interruptions.

  
Dustin ripped open the front door to see a very disgruntled Robin behind it. “What are you doing here? How did you know where I live?”

  
“I’ve left messages, but you didn’t return any of my phone calls.” Robin forced her way in. “And it’s called a phone book, Henderson. How do you think I found your phone number? It wasn’t that hard to figure out.”

  
“Again, what are you doing here,” Dustin’s irritation had morphed into frank curiosity.

  
“Steve hasn’t been at work. Boss said he quit.” Robin plopped herself down on the couch, clearly indicating she wouldn’t leave until she got what she came for. “So, what gives?”

  
“Maybe he just got tired of the sailor uniform,” Dustin played coy despite Robin’s evident persistence. “Why didn’t you ask him yourself?”

  
“I already tried that, duh. Dingus isn’t answering his phone or returning any of my messages, either.” Robin suddenly grew serious. “Dustin, is he okay?”

  
Dustin crossed his arms against his chest and strove to retain a poker face. “Again, why don’t you ask him yourself?”

  
“I would if I could find him! And I know you know something, or you wouldn’t be avoiding me. So, give it up small fry,” Robin pressured him out of frustration, but then dropped the act and let her true motivation shine through. “Please, Dustin. After his near-fainting, Southern belle routine he’s had me really worried. I did my own research and I didn’t like what I read. And now he just up and disappears without so much as a peep. I just need to know that he’s okay. It surprised me too, but I actually care what happens to the guy.”

  
Dustin heaved out a sigh. If she had gone to the trouble of combing through the same medical books that he had, he sympathized and identified with her blossoming panic over Steve because he had been there. He truly believed her sincerity was genuine, but it wasn’t his place to disclose the details. He held up a finger. “Just wait a minute. Just…wait, okay?”

  
The younger teen disappeared down the hallway and into his mother’s room without waiting for a reply. It was the only other room in the house other than the living room with a phone in it, and for this he required total privacy out of respect for his ailing friend. Dustin dialed hurriedly from memory. It had only been a few days, but the number was already cemented in his brain for quick use. He tapped his fingers against the bedspread while he waited for the call to connect through the switchboard. When he heard the click, he didn’t wait for a ‘hello’. “Steve?”

  
“Dustin?”

  
“How are you doing, buddy?”

  
“Just peachy. Did you finish your project?” When he didn’t receive an immediate response, Steve figured it out and scolded him accordingly. “Dustin! The only reason I didn’t kick you out of the room Wednesday was you agreed to finish it this weekend. You promised! So, go! March!”

  
“Steve! Stop mothering me for a second and just listen. I’ve tried, but I’ve been a little busy playing your personal secretary,” Dustin stated matter-of-factly.

  
“Sorry about that,” Steve said contritely, even though it wasn’t his idea for Dustin to field all the calls and provide answers regarding his health. He was a little too young to be taking on such a huge responsibility, but Dustin made it his business to know anything and everything Steve and illness-related, so he became somewhat of an expert, and as a result, the default go-to person.

  
“Don’t worry, it’s fine, but Nancy called me this morning – again – and while I was talking to her, Robin showed up on my doorstep looking for you,” Dustin explained. “What do you want me to tell her?”

  
“You can tell her whatever you like. It’s not like it’s a secret or she doesn’t already know about the cancer. You don’t have to be my gatekeeper all the time. Take the day off.” Even though he meant it kindly, it sounded harsh to Steve even in his own head, so he added more gently, “But thank you. I appreciate the effort. Seriously. But why are you holding back on her?”

  
“You’re welcome. And it’s only because I care, dumbass.” Steve’s soft laughter was music to the younger boy’s ears. “You know when I tell her, she’s going to want to come see you for herself, right? I just wanted to make sure you felt up to it today. I didn’t think I should spring it on you without checking with you first.”

  
“Again, I appreciate it, but it’s not going to get any better anytime soon.” Steve’s voice was taunt with blooming discomfort. “Today’s as good a day as any.”

  
“Okay. I guess both of us will see you soon then,” Dustin opened his mouth to say ‘goodbye’, but Steve had to get in one last word:

  
“That means you’re gonna finish your project tomorrow for sure, right,” Steve pushed.

  
“Yes! Get off my back! Jesus!” Dustin hung up the phone hard enough to jangle the bell inside, and prepared to break the news to Robin.

  
“So, who were you talking to,” Robin asked knowingly, with a hint of smugness.

  
“Cut the shit. You already know. Did you drive here?” When Robin nodded, Dustin grabbed a jacket and headed for the front door. “Good. Let’s get in the car and start heading south. I’ll direct you from there.”

  
“Ooooh, secretive,” Robin wiggled her fingers at Dustin.

  
Dustin narrowed his eyes at her. “Just start the car and drive already.”

  
“Geez, bossy much? Maybe I was wrong about Steve, after all. He must be a saint for putting up with you,” Robin teased.

  
They could trade barbs all day, but it wasn’t going to accomplish anything. Instead, Dustin just bit his tongue and instructed her where to turn.

  
It wasn’t long before the Hawkins Memorial sign telescoped into view. “Oh no,” Robin uttered with dismay, the pieces of the puzzle flying together with magnetic fervor and snapping rudely into place, devastatingly revealing where and why her co-worker had mysteriously vanished.

  
“Over there. The visitors’ parking on the right,” Dustin pointed without commenting on her epiphany.

  
Robin parked the car slightly askew and hesitated before exiting the car. “This is where he’s been?” Dustin shook his head sadly in the affirmative. “Since when? How – how long has he known?” She had suspected that Steve was more ill than he had let on – or had even been aware of - which was why she had been so compelled to locate him in the first place. The mere idea of him standing right next to her and keeping his sickness to himself, whether it was intentional or not, for whatever length of time caused her eyes to dampen for not the first time over Steve Harrington.

  
“Not long,” was Dustin’s vague answer as he slammed the car door shut, but then expounded on his statement. “He’s been here since Wednesday, so they could start treatment. Just so you know, it can get pretty intense.”

  
“Are you sure it’s okay that I’m here?” All of the sudden, Robin wasn’t so confident that she would be welcomed. Sure, they were friendly at work, but visiting someone in the hospital was a whole other level of intimacy that she didn’t know if Steve would be accepting of – especially in his state.

  
“Yeah. He said it was fine. C’mon. He’s expecting us,” Dustin beckoned her through the sliding glass doors and led her to the elevator, depressing the button to summon it.

  
Robin followed the curly-haired boy through the maze of sterile hallways that he slalomed through effortlessly. Clearly, he knew the route. He paused at a door and knocked softly before turning to her. “Wait here a sec. I wanna make sure he’s still up to it.”

  
It wasn’t long before Dustin popped his head back out and signaled her in. The pale, yellow walls were a soothing contrast to the bleak exterior and clinical white of the halls. At first glance, it resembled a hotel room rather than a hospital room, until her focus was drawn to the mechanical bed and its occupant.

  
“Hey, Robin,” Steve greeted her with a smile, albeit a little softer and more pulled down at the edges with fatigue.

  
“Hey, Steve.” Robin scanned the room and viewed all the clues she had missed at first that they were indeed in Steve’s hospital room and not some vacation haven or at home hanging out in his bedroom. Equipment lined the walls behind the IV pump that ticked quietly but consistently. Monitors stood, disconnected and dark for later use above the side railings of the raised bed. It was then that she spotted all the plastic emesis basins strewn about in strategic places for quick use, and akin to a smack in the face, the faint scent of vomit hit her. Clear bags adorned with neon stickers and suspended by a pole dripped one slow bead of medicine at a time into lines that were connected to the boy on the bed who despite his dismal surroundings, still showed a row of his perfect, white teeth at her even as his eyelids blinked heavily, weighed down by the already overwhelming sickness the aforementioned medication induced. It was too much. It was way too much, and if she didn’t try to crack a joke right that very second, she might just dissolve into a weeping puddle where she stood. “Quite an elaborate scheme to get out of working, Dingus.”

  
“Did it work,” Steve looked at her innocently.

  
“I’ll say.” Steve snorted at that and it transformed into an almost hysterical cackling until Robin found herself surrendering and joining in. How did he do that? How could he possibly find anything funny in the middle of all…this? Perhaps, there was a lesson that Robin Buckley could learn from Steve Harrington, after all. He suddenly gripped his abdomen tightly and flinched. “Oh shit.”

  
“What? What’d I do?” Normally, she was as cool as a cucumber, but being in this place was disconcerting. “Are you okay?”

  
Steve flapped a hand dismissively and exhaled forcefully. “It’s fine. Just a twinge. It happens.” He took a minute to compose himself with measured breaths before addressing her again. “Not to be rude, but what are you doing here? I’m sure you have better things to do than this.”

  
“Not really,” Robin shrugged. “Work’s dull without my partner in crime, no matter how much of a doofus he might be. Besides…I wanted to make sure you were okay and had followed up with the doctor like a good little sailor.”

  
“Aww, you missed me. Holy shit, you actually care. How sweet,” Steve kidded before the smirk slipped from his face and he swallowed hard, twice, against the rising nausea. “As you can see, I am doing _amazing_.”

  
“Of course, I _care_ ,” Robin giggled and God, if she didn’t hate Steve a little bit for eliciting such a childish sound from her. “You’re like a little kicked puppy that just evokes sympathy. Dumb and sweet and kinda pathetic, really.”

  
“Don’t do that!” Even though her tone was teasing and she was plainly joking, it still seemed to make Steve angry as he set his jaw firmly and whipped his head towards her, fire flashing in his hazel eyes. “I don’t need your pity.”

  
“Yeah, Steve hates that shit,” Dustin interjected defensively.

  
“C’mon, I didn’t mean it like that,” Robin started apologetically. “I promise it’s not pity. It’s not! It’s pure concern. Is it really so hard to believe that I wanted to come check on the guy I’ve practically spent my whole summer laughing with and just last week scared the shit out of me by being completely out of it on the walk-in floor?”

  
Steve seemed to relax slightly at her words and gave them some consideration before responding. “Well, as you can see, I’m –,“ He audibly gulped as his throat constricted painfully against the rising bile. “-I’m fine,” he finished unconvincingly as he fought with the blankets, failing to scramble out of bed in a timely fashion.

  
Dustin observed Steve’s eyes widening in alarm and the convulsive swallows as his friend tried to wrestle himself out of the covers in a hurry. It didn’t look like he was going to make it, so Dustin grabbed a bowl and hastily shoved it under his friend’s head. Steve wrenched the receptacle from the younger teen’s hands roughly in his rush before collapsing forward with it on the bed, hunched over on his knees and hugging the basin to his chest as he began heaving.

  
He felt a hand rubbing his back and just assumed it was Dustin, but it was Robin who sat gingerly next to him and swept his sweaty bangs off his forehead with her cool touch as he continued to expel stream after stream of stomach contents, not getting much of a break between to draw sufficient air. Finally spent, he crumpled backwards onto the pillows, panting hard from the exertion.

  
Dustin removed the bin and went into the bathroom to clean up. Steve squeezed his eyes shut against his misery as Robin continued to play with his damp bangs, noting the strands that had loosened from his scalp and remained tucked between her fingers.

  
Steve’s breaths had evened out as the queasiness eased somewhat. His eyes opened to small slits and he almost went cross-eyed looking at her hand. Robin started to pull back. “No, don’t stop. It feels sorta nice.” There were a few beats of silence before Steve added sheepishly. “Sorry about that. I can usually make it to the bathroom before I lose it like that. I’d like to say it’ll never happen again, but then I’d be lying. Thanks for trying to help, though.”

  
“Don’t apologize. I don’t mind. Really. And I didn’t do all that much.” Robin continued to fiddle with the brunette locks that had infuriated her so much in high school as she fought to get the tremor in her voice under control. “I bet you still probably have oodles of people lined up around the block to help hold your hair back like you did in high school -especially the ladies, but if you let me, I’d like to also be one of them. You’ve grown on me like a fungus, you moron, and I know you probably don't _need_ any more friends, but...”

  
“Yeah, as you can see, I’m practically fending off all the women with my nailbat,” Steve choked out, gesturing to the empty room. “I’ve been a little busy with other things, anyway, and I’m not exactly interested in dating right now. Besides, I thought you hated me in high school and barely just tolerate me now.”

  
“Well, I literally just offered you my friendship, so I think that qualifies as something more than just tolerating you. And I’m not talking about _dating_ you, you egomaniac.” Robin rolled her eyes, slightly baffled but amused at the nonsense Steve was spouting. “I’m not into you like that – or anyone like you for that matter. By the way, I never _hated_ you. I was _jealous_ of you.”

  
“Well, nothing to be jealous of here, as you can see. My life isn’t the fairytale it seems. Never was. Besides, you’re smart and cool and funny. I bet you had guys beating down your door – back then and now.” That was one of the nicest, yet grossly incorrect compliments someone had ever given Robin, on so many levels, but Steve couldn’t be faulted for that. He didn’t really _know_ her. No one did completely. But she was about to change that, although it could all blow up disastrously in her face and be the biggest mistake she ever made.

  
“It wasn’t your popularity or money or good looks I was jealous of. I wasn’t interested in any of that – or any _guys_ , for that matter.” Robin had never disclosed to a soul what she was about to confess. Her deepest, darkest secret. She was terrified she would be cast out. Shunned. And that would cut her in a way she wasn’t sure she could easily bounce back from. Maybe she chose Steve as her first confidant because he was less risky. She hadn’t known him as long and she wasn’t as emotionally attached. Losing him would sting, but Robin would be able to move on. There was always a possibility he would blab her secret all over town, but she really didn’t think so. Dustin had been right. Steve wasn’t a malicious person. His interactions with the kids revealed his true nature. The kids cared for him deeply and she could sense how safe and comfortable they felt around them, and how they could be themselves without judgement. He exuded a sense of protection and security that Robin felt around him, too. Maybe Steve had too much to deal with and didn’t need another friend to juggle right now, but she certainly could use someone to lean on and would happily return the favor. Robin’s doubts screamed that he might not want to have anything to do with her after she disclosed the truth, but if he could be brave enough to let her in to witness his ugly reality and something as deeply personal as his illness -and literally spill his guts in front of her - she thought it only fair that she spill her proverbial guts to him in return. “Okay, here goes. Like I said, I wasn’t jealous of any of that stuff, but I was jealous of all the _girls_ that were staring at you. One in particular. I wanted her to look at _me_ like she looked at you. With that stupid lovesick look on her face.”

  
“Wh-what?” Steve’s chemo-soaked brain was initially having trouble following the conversation and deciphering the thinly veiled meaning behind Robin’s words. It took several moments for the realization to fully dawn on him. “Oh.”

  
Dustin came out of the bathroom and was immediately aware of the awkwardness hanging in the air. “What? What’d I miss?”

  
“Yeah. Oh,” Robin’s posture was wound tight with nerves.

  
Steve could sense her discomfort and was perceptive enough to know that this conversation was meant for his ears only. Somehow, he had to get Dustin out of the room without raising a red flag. “Hey, I think – I think I might need some medicine now. Could you – could you track down my nurse and have her get some for me, please,” Steve murmured his request without turning his head from Robin.

  
“S-sure, You got it, buddy.” Dustin’s eyebrows were drawn together in confusion. He knew something was up, but left to do Steve’s bidding without questioning it, giving one last puzzled look behind him as he exited the room.

  
Robin sat on her hands, nervously rocking back and forth slowly. “If you want me to leave and not have anything to do with me anymore, I’ll understand.”

  
Steve scrunched up his face as if the very thought pained him. Instead of acknowledging her offer to vacate the room, he asked a question that stole her breath from the sheer shock. “Which one?” When she didn’t respond, he prompted her again. “Which girl? C’mon, now I wanna know.”

  
Once again, his question knocked her so off kilter it was an eternity before she formulated a sufficient response. “Tammy Thompson. Do you even remember her?”

  
“Not really.” Steve searched through the files of his memory and initially came up empty until he was hit with a sudden flash. “Oh wait! Is she the one who wanted to be a singer, but couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket?”

  
“Hey, she can too sing,” Robin opposed. “And besides, what’s wrong with having dreams?”

  
“Nothing’s wrong with it if you have talent. She’s cute and all, but she’s a total dud. She can’t sing _at all_. She actually sounds like a Muppet.” Steve sang off-tune, his eerily accurate mocking imitation interspersed with laughs.

  
“No, she doesn’t,” Robin shoved playfully at his shoulder, trying hard to suppress her own snickers but failing miserably.

  
“Yes, she does. She sounds like a Muppet giving birth,” Steve snorted, once again giving a scathing, but hilarious rendition of what he thought Robin’s high school crush sounded like. “I thought you were supposed to be smart. You could do way better than Tammy Thompson.”

  
“Shut up,” Robin sputtered out between her peals of laughter that harmonized with Steve’s. She didn’t know what to expect from him, but he exceeded any scenario she could possibly conjure up in her head. Steve had skated over her sexuality, while still acknowledging and supporting it at the same time. It was simply a non-issue for him, and he fully accepted her for who she was without giving it a second thought. Steve had likely done the same for the kids – welcoming all their nerdiness and the quirks that went along with it. No questions asked. It was quite ironic that the boy infamous for a list of very superficial reasons could turn out to be so deep and tolerant. Her eyes were opened now and saw crystal clearly all the reasons those Freshman adhered to Steve like glue. Robin wasn’t naive enough to believe everyone would be as wonderful. But Steve? Steve was truly in a class by himself, and she wondered if he knew that – if he had any inkling of how he made others feel by just being himself. As their mirth died down, she had one last confession to make to the boy glancing at her expectantly – an admission of culpability that he very much deserved to hear. “You know, I really did misjudge you Steve Harrington. Who knew you were such a great guy underneath all that luscious hair? But I’m onto your secret now. You really are extraordinary.”

  
Steve grinned and winked at her knowingly as Dustin poked his head around the doorjamb. “It’s not a secret. I already knew that, for one. Is it safe to come in?”

  
“Yeah, come on in,” Steve waved him in the door.

  
“Your nurse will be in, in a few,” Dustin informed his friend before turning to Robin and addressing her, “And I’m not the only one who figured out how great this guy is. Why do you think we voted him into our Party?” Dustin proceeded to tick off all of Steve’s good qualities on his fingers, having to leave out any mention of their escapades in the Upside Down. It was still a substantial list, just the same. Dustin concluded his verbose summation by proudly declaring Steve’s assigned role in The Party, “Not only does he look out for us by being, in his own words, ‘a damn good babysitter’, but he protects us and defends our honor, too. With his life. Now you can see why he’s our Fighter.”

  
Steve was definitely a fighter – and not just in all the ways Dustin had mentioned. There were so many more facets to his strength other than his physical prowess. And Robin wanted to discover all of them and be a part of it somehow, offering him whatever support she could. Steve had given her the most beautiful gift without even knowing it, and she just wanted to return the favor. She just wasn’t sure if there was enough room for her to be included, even on the periphery, but she wanted to give it a shot. There was suddenly nothing more that she wanted in the world than to belong to this eclectic group. “Well, I get that your Party if super exclusive and I probably don’t have, like, all the right qualifications, but do I fit in anywhere at all or are you gonna ban me from even being in your presence?”

  
“Of course, we would never _ban_ you. But as for being a member of the Party, that is a collective vote that is not solely up to us. Given your connection to Steve and that you have proven yourself worthy, you’re certainly welcome to hang around in my book. That is, if Steve wants it,” Dustin beamed at her.

  
“I’m sure she was waiting with bated breath for your approval, Henderson,” Steve rolled his eyes.

  
“Shut up, Steve. She asked a question. I answered it. Your sarcasm is not helpful.”

  
“It was rhetorical, dipshit,” Steve argued.

  
“Actually, it kinda wasn’t. I mean, I won’t exactly be working with you anymore, but I’d still like to see you and come visit if you’re cool with that. You know, make sure you’re good.” Robin bit her lip anxiously for his verdict, however silly the notion was.

  
Steve looked at her incredulously as if he couldn’t believe she had asked such a ridiculous question. “Of course, I am. I mean, you put up with me all summer and saved me from certain heat stroke. Why would you think I wouldn’t want you to?”

  
Robin’s doubts were starting to resurface with more ferocity the longer they talked, although Steve had never even hinted at feeling the slightest bit opposed to her involvement in his life. “I don’t know. I mean, up until today we’ve never seen each other outside of school or work. I’m not a part of this Party thing and you clearly are. You’re their Fighter for God’s sake, so what role would I even play in all this exactly?”

  
“Hopefully?” Steve reached out and clasped her hand before raising the corners of his lips at her, putting to rest any of her lingering insecurities. “The Fighter’s friend.”


	12. All My Hair's Abandoned All My Body

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's treatment - and the side effects that accompany it - are back in full swing. Robin gets a crash course in how to best help Steve. She doesn't always succeed, but the point is, is that she's there and she's trying. Then Steve gets a welcome reprieve, but his weekend in his new home isn't quite as restful as they promised Steve's doctors it would be. It turns out to be exactly what he needed, though before he returns to the hospital where the doctor holds Steve's fate in his hands. If the past year-plus has taught Steve anything, it's that all the sweet moments in between that he gets to experience - and the people responsible for them - are exactly why he's fighting so hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow, this chapter wound up even longer than the ones before. There is extreme sappiness ahead. I must've been in a sentimental mood when I wrote this. TWs for playful mention of sexuality and side effects. As always, happy reading and I wish you good health!

The frenetic, clamoring pace of the harshly lit hospital hallways at their mid-afternoon peak of bustling activity formed an almost acrimonious juxtaposition to the hush that immersed the dim interior of the private room. The blinds were drawn against any offending light, adding to the tomb-like ambiance that Robin entered into.

  
A petite woman sat by the bed, dabbing a damp rag against the perspiring brow of the boy who lay limply and passively, eyes fluttering, but remaining shut as if the lids were pulled down by invisible weights. The woman wore a tight-lipped expression, but her mouth loosened at the corners upon noticing the girl. “Hi. You must be Robin. I’m Joyce. Joyce Byers.”

  
“Hi,” Robin managed before depositing her load onto the sofa and sinking down next to it.

  
Joyce left her ministrations to join her on the couch. “Thank you for coming to sit with him. Hopper’s working on a case he just can’t seem to get out from underneath of and I have to go in to work. Even though it’s unavoidable sometimes, Steve…Steve really hates the kids to see him like this, but he really shouldn’t be alone, either. Especially when it gets this bad.” Joyce cupped Robin’s one hand warmly with both of hers, stealing a quick glance at the figure in the bed. “He had a terrible night. Really sick. This morning’s not been much better. Poor thing hasn’t slept more than twenty minutes at a time in almost two days.”

  
Until now, Robin had only had the scantest glimpses of Steve’s cruel reality, but the curtain was drawing back to fully reveal the whole brutal, merciless truth, and she didn’t know how she could possibly offer any meaningful assistance in such dire circumstances. “I don’t know anything about…How – how can I even help him?”

  
Joyce pointed to the chalkboard. “All his medicine and when he can get them next are listed. The top three are for nausea. The bottom one is for pain. He needs it but is really stubborn about taking it most of the time.” The smaller woman reached out and traced the square of gauze taped to the crook of Robin’s elbow. It was almost too familiar of a gesture from a virtual stranger, but Robin guessed that cancer had a way of erasing traditional social boundaries and bringing people together – or tearing them apart. “It’s clear that you care about Steve. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here or have gotten tested like the rest of us. Steve’s not great when it comes to telling us what he needs, but you know him well enough. Just follow your instincts and I’m sure you’ll figure it out just fine.”

  
The lingering doubt must have been tattooed on her face because Joyce patted her on the knee in reassurance. “Just being here is a huge help. He’s pretty weak.” She got up and wrapped her jacket around her. “Oh, and if you could get him to eat something that’d be amazing. Although, I’m not holding my breath on that one. He hasn’t even been able to hold down water. It probably won’t be long before the doctors decide to put the feeding tube back in given what happened last time.”

  
A _feeding tube_? God. Steve had never even mentioned that. Joyce had incorrectly assumed that Robin knew ever last gruesome detail of her new friend’s first battle, but he had omitted certain elements. As she tried to visualize that particular haunting image, Robin’s emotions eddied and whirled until they were skirting a line that was dangerously close to pity. And that was _precisely_ what Steve _didn’t_ want.

  
Joyce approached the bed almost reverently. Her palm ghosted across Steve’s gradually disappearing hairline and slid down his feverish cheek. She kissed her first three fingers and pressed them lightly to his temple before offering Robin some additional encouragement. “You’ll do fine. I know you’ll take good care of him.”

  
Robin occupied the seat Joyce had recently vacated soon after she had slipped out the door. Crossing her freckled arms, she leaned them on the siderail and rested her head upon them as she studied the dozing teenager. Even in his slumber he didn’t seem restful, slight grimaces fleetingly gracing his countenance as he shifted constantly, presumably to move away from whatever discomfort flowed through his body. She placed a hand on the shrinking girth of his bicep and felt Steve quiet momentarily beneath her fingertips.

  
Soft gags cleaved through the center of the deceptive calm that enveloped the room. Steve produced them almost unconsciously, his Adam's apple spasming up and down as a result. Robin didn’t even realize he was awake until he grasped the railing and tried to ineffectively pull himself upright. Unsuccessful, he urgently flopped his head over the edge of the bed as a loud retch was ripped from his throat.

  
Robin stood dumbly, jolted by the vicious intrusion of side effects that, although not unexpected, she was inadequately prepared to face so abruptly. She was finally spurred into action when she was forced to jump back to avoid the small amount of saliva and bile that spilled from Steve’s lips and splattered messily against the tiles. “Sorry,” he rasped out offhandedly, not even bothering to open his eyes.

  
“No. God, Steve. _I’m_ the one that’s sorry. I shoulda been faster.” Robin snatched up a clean washcloth and wiped away a line of spittle on his chin before bending down and swiping it across the mess on the floor.

  
Steve’s eyes opened to bleary slits and he tracked her movements lethargically. “Robin? What are you doing here?”

  
His innocent questions marinated her heart in despair. They had just talked about her being here yesterday, but Steve’s muddled brain apparently wouldn’t allow him to recall something that basic. Not to upset Steve, Robin pretended like she was telling him the information for the first time. “Um, Mrs. Byers had to work today, so I volunteered to come.”

  
“Right,” Steve said noncommittally as he painstakingly struggled to get out of bed.

  
Robin straightened up from the floor. “Steve! What the hell are you doing? Lay back down, dingus before you hurt yourself.”

  
“But I have to go to the bathroom.” A few months ago such a statement might have come out petulantly and a little humorous, but now it just sounded like a small and desolate plea.

  
She was really batting a thousand today with how dense she was being. His needs just didn’t consist of around-the-clock medication and languishing in bed all day. Of course, Steve would have to get up at some point! Robin gathered the cord of the IV pump and helped Steve to stand, steadying him and shouldering more of his weight than she expected to.

  
Steve gave her a sheepish, almost apologetic glance as he shut the door. She turned on her heel and busied herself hunting up some fresh bedding. Clean sheets always made her feel better, so she figured it couldn’t hurt to try, and proceeded to strip the mattress bare. The wounded whimpers emanating from the bathroom were increasingly difficult to ignore, and Robin found her hand on the doorknob more than once before forcing herself to leave Steve to do his business in peace and return to completing her task.

  
After what seemed like an eternity, the toilet flushed and the faucet switched on. Robin exhaled a breath she hadn’t been aware she’d been holding. But Steve didn’t immediately emerge, and she rapped insistently on the bathroom door. “Steve?” There was no answer and that was worrisome enough, but when a light thud echoed from within, she grew positively frantic. “Steve? Steve, if you don’t answer me right now, I’m coming in. Steve?”

  
Coughs and splutters were the only reply she received which was better than the nothing she got just before. Robin twisted the knob and was relieved to find it unlocked, but that was short-lived when she spotted Steve slumped against the porcelain, head drooping over the bowl and back spasming violently. She knelt beside him and patiently waited for him to finish while running her hand up and down his trembling arm.

  
Steve spit a few times, trying to rid himself of the bitter, acidic taste. Robin raised a hand to card it through his hair in an act of comfort. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he cautioned in a strained whisper, his throat dry and raw.

  
“What?”

  
“It’s really greasy and gross. And…” Steve ran his shaky fingers through his hair while careful to stay facing away from her, unable to cope with the sadness he knew it would provoke. He unfurled his palm to show her the detached tresses. “…it’s starting to get worse.”

  
Robin let her hand fall the rest of the way onto his head and scratched his scalp with her short, stubby nails, unequivocally indicating to her friend that, hair or no hair, dirty or not, she wasn’t repulsed by any of it. He dropped his head onto her shoulder like it took tremendous effort just for his neck to keep it upright. “I’ll take my chances. Besides, I bet I could still get big bucks for it at the high school. You’re kinda a legend there.”

  
A sound that was a weird hybrid of a sob and a laugh escaped. “Think so? Gonna have to take care of it soon, either way.”

  
Robin gently guided him away from the toilet until his entire back was supported by the cold tiles. “Why don’t we get you feeling a bit better first before you worry about your vanity. I think it might be time for more meds now. Do you want something for your stomach and…,” she left the rest unspoken, remembering what Mrs. Byers had said about Steve being reluctant to take the other medication.

  
Steve tipped his head back, bobbing it up and down as it rested against the tiles. He stretched his legs out, failing to hide the wince as he did so. “Please. Yes, to both.”

  
“Okay.” Based on what she was told, Robin was surprised that Steve agreed so easily to both. That could only mean it had reached an unbearable level for him. Robin disappeared for a bit before returning and hovering behind the nurse as she injected two different syringes of medicine into the clear tubing, never questioning why he was sprawled on the bathroom floor. Steve guessed she had seen patients in all kinds of interesting positions. Robin rejoined him wordlessly on the disgusting bathroom floor, giving the drugs a chance to work before attempting to get him up.

  
It was a good half hour and another round of vomiting later before Robin even proposed moving off the floor. “Have the meds kicked in enough? Do you – do you want to get back in bed?”

  
Instead of answering, Steve leaned away from the tiles enough to put his hands behind his back and walk them up the wall, using them as aids to pull himself into a semi-standing position. His knees just wouldn’t lock, and he had to grip the sink to keep himself vertical. Robin circled his waist and juggled the IV pole as the pair began the short, but arduous journey back to the bed.

  
By the time Steve sagged gratefully against the pillows, his breaths were coming way too quick and shallow for such a small feat. He shivered under the thin hospital blankets despite the sheen of sweat coating him which Robin took immediate note of and took it upon herself to rectify.

  
The object she had brought with her lay discarded on the sofa, forgotten temporarily amidst Steve’s misery. But given the goose pimples dotting his flesh, there couldn’t be a more perfect time to bring it out. She unfolded the patchwork quilt and presented it to him. “I brought you something.” Steve looked at her quizzically, not registering what she held in her hands. Robin explained further as she began to cover him with the brightly colored cloth. “My Nana sewed this for me when I was a little girl. I got sick a lot. Just colds ‘n stuff. It kinda became my go to when I wasn’t feeling well. I figured you could use it.”

  
It was worn soft from years of use, rendering it extraordinarily snuggly and warm. Steve was incredibly touched by the gesture, but he couldn’t accept it. “That’s really sweet, but I couldn’t possibly take your Nana’s blanket from you. It’s practically a family heirloom.”

  
“I’m not _giving_ it to you, dingus. I’m _lending_ it to you.” Robin finished draping the quilt over the other teenager. “You can give it back to me when you get better.”

  
Steve scrunched up his face. Whether it was from physical or emotional discomfort, Robin couldn’t tell. “Might be awhile.”

  
“That’s okay. Keep it as long as you need to.” Robin poked his leg affectionately, unwittingly eliciting a small hiss. “Sorry. Just try to rest, now. Okay?”

  
Steve restlessly tossed his head from side to side. “Can’t sleep for shit in here. God, I’m tired. So, so tired,” he nearly whined before dampening his self-indulgent tone and trying for something a little less pessimistic. “Might actually get to sleep in a real bed soon, though. Docs are considering granting me a pass this weekend before I start the third cycle. You know, if I’m okay enough.”

  
“I really hope so, Steve. I really do. If anyone ever deserved to bust out of a place, it’s you.” Robin interlocked her fingers with his. “But please close your eyes and at least try to sleep while the meds are sorta working.”

  
Astonishingly, he listened and let his lids slide shut. Such a substantial period of time had passed without any movement on Steve’s part, save for the alternating tensing and relaxing of his arm attached to the hand that she still held, that Robin truly believed he had drifted off. That is, until she got a good look at his face and how he was biting down so hard on his lip that a bead of blood was forming. “The jig is up. I know you’re not sleeping. What’s wrong? Are you in pain or something?”

  
Steve’s eyes popped open in reaction to the blunt question. With his defenses down, her directness easily shocked him into honesty. “Yeah. Fuckin’ hurts.”

  
Robin outwardly groaned in annoyance at his obstinance, but internally carried a load of guilt that she hadn’t pieced the clues together faster. Mrs. Byers had all but drawn her a roadmap when she told Robin that Steve was pretty terrible about sharing his needs, and she would essentially have to anticipate them. It was a quirk of his she didn’t quite understand. “Why didn’t you say something earlier, you big dummy? We could’ve gotten you something else.”

  
Steve shrugged as best as he could laying down in the bed. “I didn’t want anything. My stomach’s calmed down for the time being, so…”

  
“Well, is there anything I _can_ do,” Robin mollified her tone, it dawning on her that, no matter what medicine he ingested, Steve was never going to experience complete relief for any extended length of time while poison was being fed into his veins. He was forced to choose one form of misery over another.

  
“About this? Not really. I’d just wind up puking my guts out all over again,” Steve confirmed her suspicions as he played with a loose thread, pondering an idea that had sprouted in his brain and began to take root. “But there might be something else you _can_ do. Not for me directly, but, well, I’ve been thinking -“

  
“Now we’re in dangerous territory,” Robin mocked while Steve gave her a pointed look. “I am genuinely curious. What little scheme have you concocted that I could possibly help with?”

  
“Well, if you’re gonna be like that..”

  
“No, no. I’m sorry. Please continue,” Robin apologized, recognizing that Steve was being serious when he didn’t engage in the playful banter.

  
“Usually, I do a fair amount of chauffeuring the kids around, right? Even the first time around I managed to still do it sometimes. I’m not sure I can do it this time,” Steve admitted. “Hopper and Mrs. Byers are so stressed between their jobs and the kids starting high school and…me. Mrs. Sinclair and Mrs. Wheeler have been filling in and the kids have been riding their bikes some, but the weather’s getting too cold. I don’t know, could you like maybe pick up the kids and take them to school, or take them home once in awhile since you all go to the same place?”

  
Steve’s shy request following the reluctant admission of his physical limitations turned Robin’s insides into a soppy puddle of goo. Here he was hospitalized, sick and in pain, and still trying to look after them all from the sidelines. If someone told her in the high school hallways that Steve Harrington would become a surrogate parent to a gaggle of little teeny-boppers – and a damn good one at that – she would’ve laughed whoever it was out of the Chemistry lab and accused them of huffing the fumes. And here he was recruiting her for such duties, too and damned if she wasn’t going to help him out. “Taking them home might be a little hard on the days I work at Scoops, but I can definitely make sure they get there and don’t miss out on the stellar education Hawkins High provides.”

  
The muscles in Steve’s upper body visibly released their tautness. “Thank you so much! I can get you all their phone numbers and address-“

  
“Steve,” Robin interrupted him. “I already have Dustin’s number and address. Remember how I tracked you down? I can get the rest from him. Will you just relax and get some rest already? Please? Not to bruise your ego, but you’re starting to look pretty terrible again.”

  
“Fine,” Steve huffed, but relented, any residual energy he possessed dissipating and draining the fight right out of him as he wrapped himself in the quilt and turned over. At some point he must have slept because the next time he woke up, stomach roiling and lurching, it was Hopper that held his head up.

  
There was much debate - and a lot of negotiation - during the next few days over whether Steve should remain in the hospital or get a respite for the weekend before diving back into another intense round of treatment. Steve had the advantage of having one burly, contentious cop and one fierce mama bear in his corner. So, that is how he found himself currently being driven back to the Byers’ with Mrs. Byers behind the wheel late Friday afternoon. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

  
“Yeah. Great, actually.” Steve was distracted by all the sights he had missed out on in the last few weeks. When he had been admitted to the hospital, summer still had Hawkins in the vestiges of its vice-like grip. Now the leaves were changing colors and withering, and the air carried a crisp bite. It saddened him to know just how much time he lost cooped up inside with more yet to come. But for the next couple days at least, he was free.

  
Hopper’s cruiser was parked in the driveway with the man himself perched on top of the hood. As the smaller car rolled to a stop, the officer slid down and approached the passenger door, opening it. Steve was confused. He thought Hopper had to work today, but the bigger man answered his unasked question. “I’m going in tonight. If something happens at Homecoming, I want to be the responding officer on duty. Maybe I’ll even pop my head in just because and make sure Mike isn’t trying anything with my girl.”

  
Joyce smacked Hopper in the chest. “Behave, Hop. Mike’s a good kid. He really cares about El. And besides, I’ll be there chaperoning. Nothing’s going to happen. And that’s coming from me.” She turned to Steve apologetically. “I feel really bad that we’re all going to be out tonight. Are you sure you don’t mind?”

  
“What? No! Of course not! Robin’ll be here, and besides I just want to sleep and take a really long, really hot shower.” Maybe he was slightly disappointed, but he would get to see them all dressed up when they got home, and they’d still have the rest of the weekend.

  
Hopper gripped Steve’s elbow and helped him out of the car. “You might want to keep holding on to me. The rain’s made it pretty slick out here.”

  
After unlocking the front door, Joyce rejoined the pair, looping her arm through the teenager’s. Steve hated how weak and wobbly he felt, but in his defense, the wet, loose gravel wasn’t the easiest surface to walk on. His Nikes fumbled for purchase on the steps until Hopper practically lifted him onto the porch.

  
“Where are the kids?”

  
“Well, Karen’s helping the girls get ready and the boys are at Lucas’. They’re pretty hyped up for the dance. We didn’t want to overwhelm you,” Joyce explained. “Do you want to rest on the couch a bit? Or lay down?”

  
“Actually, I’d really love to take that shower first,” Steve fingered his oily and straggly strands.

  
“Sure. I’ll get your bag out of the car in a minute. But first, we have a little surprise for you.” Joyce clapped her hands together and was virtually bouncing with excitement. “Okay, when we get to the end of the hall, I’m going to cover your eyes. No peeking.”

  
Hopper affectionately rolled his eyes. “Just go with it, kid.”

  
Steve trailed the policeman and the diminutive woman down the hallway until they were standing between two closed doors. Joyce had to stand on her tiptoes to cover his eyes. He felt a whoosh of air as one of the doors was apparently opened. Joyce removed her hand and said proudly, “Okay, you can look now.”

  
For a moment, Steve was transported back to his room at his house. His _old house_ , he reminded himself. It wasn’t an exact replica, but close enough – down to the colors of the walls. And if he wasn’t mistaken, that was his desk and his dresser and…his bed.

  
Hopper slapped him on the shoulder. “This is all your furniture. We tried to lay it out as close as we could to your old room, but we had to move the dresser over a bit. Word of advice, never let the kids help you paint. There’s a Dustin-shaped blue footprint under it from where he stepped on the paint can lid that we couldn’t get out of the carpet.”

  
Steve had lost the power of speech trying to absorb the enormity of what they had done for him. Not only was Mrs. Byers giving him a place to sleep and taking care of him, but the entire group pitched in and went to the trouble of making it feel as much like his home as possible, except there was a warmth here that didn’t exist in his previous residence. This wasn’t done out of some sense of imposed obligation, but a desire to express that he _belonged_ and was _wanted_. It was something his own parents never even did for him. Unfortunately, Joyce interpreted his silence negatively. “If you don’t like it, we can change it. And there’s more.”

  
“Nonono. That’s not it at all,” Steve managed to croak out. “Wait, more?”

  
“Yep.” Hopper spun him around and opened the door across the hall to reveal a very new and very spacious, fully equipped bathroom. “Brand spanking new.”

  
Joyce spoke animatedly. “I’ve always wanted a second bathroom and was gonna put one in with all the insurance money from when the house was destroyed the first time, you know…But then it happened again and there was no time. And then Jonathan went to college, and I thought, what’s the point? But now that you’re here with us, it seemed like the perfect excuse to do it.”

  
Steve’s face twitched as he warred with his emotions. He ducked down to hide himself from view as he was rapidly losing the battle. This wonderful woman in front of him practically _rebuilt her house_ for him. His voice grew exponentially thicker. “You did all…this? For me?”

  
“Of course, sweetheart,” Joyce said airily, as if it were the most natural thing in the world which to her it probably was. “On the days you’re not feeling well, the bathroom is close by for you. Will and I have shared a bathroom for years, so it’s no big deal to keep at it. I know it’s not much, but it’s all your’s.” Joyce lovingly cupped his face and pecked his cheek. _“Welcome home_ , sweetheart.”

  
No amount of willpower could prevent the tears from falling at Joyce’s words, and Steve once again tried to shield his face with his hands, embarrassed for the display. Joyce refused to let him shy away from them and wrapped him in her arms while she shushed him and slowly rocked him back and forth.

  
“It’s _perfect!_ You two – it’s too much - my own parents won’t – you’ve done _so much_ -,” Steve rambled out in disbelief as he rubbed furiously at his eyes to regain some control. “Just – thank you. It’s not enough but, _thank you_.”

  
The other two adults stood by him as Steve fought to collect himself. Once he had calmed down enough, Joyce released him from her hold and Hopper flung a casual arm across his shoulders. “No need to thank us. Taking care of each other is just what we do. And just so you know, I talked to your parents.”

  
“They know I moved out.” It was questioning and tentative, with an underlying trace of fear in his tone.

  
“Yep. Figured they’d be even more pissed if you didn’t tell them, so I took care of it. When I explained it, they were actually relieved to know you weren’t going to be home alone anymore in your condition. That you’d be taken care of,” Hopper offered what consolation he could.

  
“Probably more like relieved I’m not their problem anymore,” Steve spat out cynically.

  
“They actually covered the expenses that insurance didn’t,” he informed the teenager. Hopper didn’t have any disillusionments that Steve would ever have the relationship with his parents that he deserved, but he was going to do his damnedest to help the kid stop blaming himself for their short-comings, and realize that his parents _did_ love him in some warped, dysfunctional way.

  
“That seems…unlike them. Did you threaten them or something,” Steve feebly joked.

  
“Maybe a little,” Hopper smirked before giving Steve a firmer squeeze. “Nah, they really did want to help. Now go take that shower and try out your new bathroom. Frankly, you need it. You’re getting a little ripe there, kid.”

  
“Hey, I was in the hospital, asshole,” Steve defended with a smile, grateful for the opening to exit the emotional minefield they had been navigating.

  
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. There’s a built-in bench in the shower if you need to sit down, old man.” Hopper said it in jest, but still wanted to point out it was in there if Steve was too tired or weak and unable to stand the entire time.

  
Steve stood under the hot stream and let it cascade over his sore body. He peeled the bandage from his chest and swabbed over the bruise from where the needle had resided. He spent extra time on his hair, knowing it was super dirty and also because it was a simple task that he wouldn’t be able to perform for much longer. More came out in his hands as he rinsed and he frowned at the pile, deciding that it was something he should probably take care of this weekend while he had some relative privacy to do so.

  
By the time he finished the long, but amazingly cleansing shower, he was thoroughly exhausted. Steve only meant to lie down for a few minutes, but wound up crashing so hard he never even heard Joyce and Hopper leave, or Robin come in.

  
When he awoke, it was fully dark outside. The soft glow of the desk lamp illuminated Robin with a textbook open in front of her, absently munching on some popcorn. “Oh hey, good morning sleeping beauty. Or should I say, good evening.”

  
Steve squinted sleepily at the shadows. “Hey. What time is it?”

  
“Nine-ish. You slept right through dinner. You want something to eat,” Robin offered.

  
Groggily, Steve sat himself upright. “I don’t think I’m ready for that, yet. Thanks, though.”

  
“Whatever.” Robin was quickly figuring out not to push when it came to food with Steve. It wasn’t beneficial and only added to his distress. “You want to watch a movie before the house gets overrun by hormonal high schoolers?”

  
“Sure. Just gimme a minute. And technically, you’re still a ‘hormonal high schooler’,” Steve couldn’t resist pointing out as he crossed the hallway into the bathroom.

  
“Touché.”

  
The duo moved to the living room. Robin sifted through a stack of tapes, and Steve grew impatient. “What are we watching anyway?”

  
“'St. Elmo’s Fire'. Just came out on video. I haven’t seen it yet. That okay?” Robin held up a rectangular case as Steve eased himself onto the center of the couch.

  
He had only vaguely heard of it, but he wasn’t terribly picky. He just didn’t quite understand the title. It sounded like gibberish to him. “Sure. But what does that even mean, anyway?”

  
“It’s actually a real thing. A weather phenomena. Kinda like lightning, but more intense and colorful.”

  
“They made a movie about the weather?” Steve scratched his head, somehow more befuddled by her explanation.

  
“It’s symbolic. Duh. Some saw it as a good omen. For instance, sailors considered it good luck. But Coleridge described it as ‘death fires’ *. Shakespeare wasn’t too fond of it, either. I guess it depends on your perception.”

  
Steve hadn’t been expecting a meteorology lesson and how it relates to literature. He was almost sorry he had asked. Sometimes he felt Robin and the kids were too similar for their own good, sharing in common not only an innate thirst for knowledge, but thriving on sharing and discussing said knowledge. He asked questions out of politeness, but half the time didn’t follow the answers. “’Death fires’, huh? And what do you make of it?”

  
“Don’t know. Never seen it. But supposedly it’s an electrically charged light show that lights up everything in its path. A rare and beautiful force of nature.” _Kinda like you, Steve_ , Robin finished in her head as she got comfortable on the couch. She tucked her feet under her and flung the blanket from the back of the sofa over both of them. After a moment’s hesitation, Robin tugged on the older boy until he was horizontal, his head resting on her lap while she absentmindedly rubbed his shoulder. “Movie time?”

  
As time wore on, Robin was not as enamored with the movie as she initially had been. It was watchable, but not among her favorites. She wasn’t certain Steve was even paying attention to it. He had a faraway look in his eyes, and it was entirely possible he still wasn’t feeling well enough to focus on it completely.

  
It was almost a relief when it was over, but the movie had barely wrapped up when the kids stampeded through the door like a herd of elephants. Steve’s whole demeanor changed instantly. “How did it go?”

  
All the kids spoke at once, overexcitement and enthusiasm the fuel to their rambunctious energy. Joyce snuck in the door and tossed her keys on the table before speaking over the din. “As you can probably tell, I think it went pretty well.”

  
“Did you guys have fun?” Voices exploded in renewed unison at Steve’s open-ended query. All their faces shone brightly with glee, but Dustin wore an additional dream-like expression. Steve tucked that nugget away to be dealt with later. “Was the music good? Did you get to dance with everyone you wanted to?”

  
“The music was fantastic,” Max beamed. A smile really suited the redhead. “But we didn’t get to dance with _everyone_ we wanted to.”

  
“Hey!” Lucas took some exception to that statement.

  
“Relax, Stalker. Insecure much? I was referring specifically to someone in this room. Someone that wasn’t there. _Someone_ that we didn’t even get to _see_ beforehand, you dweeb.” Max flipped on the stereo and glided over to the older teenager with an outstretched hand, using her most adult tone of voice. “May I have this dance, Mr. Harrington?”

  
Steve glanced down at his sloppy appearance. A baggy t-shirt and loose, plaid pajama bottoms. Prince Charming he was not. At least, not anymore. “I don’t know, Max. You guys all look great. Aren’t I sorta underdressed?”

  
“Who cares?” Max couldn’t fully understand Steve’s self-doubt about his appearance. It’s not like they were somewhere fancy in front of strangers. They were just in the Byers’ living room with each other, for chrissake’s. “Look, if it’s that important to you, borrow Dustin’s boutonniere or a jacket or something, but I just wanna dance with you, Steve. I don’t care what you’re wearing. You’re not really gonna reject me, are you?”

  
Max knew it was low to send him packing on such a guilt trip, but any reservations she had about doing so were pushed aside when he contritely agreed. To make Steve feel a bit better about the situation, Dustin, along with Robin’s help, got his boutonniere pinned to him while Mrs. Byers reappeared with a recorder. Bob had taught her the basics, and she was finally putting both his patient instructions and the machine to good use.

  
Foreigner’s dulcet ballad reverberated out of the twin stereo speakers as Max clasped Steve’s hand:

  
_Now this mountain I must climb_   
_Feels like a world upon my shoulders_   
_Through the clouds I see love shine_   
_It keeps me warm as life grows colder_

  
Max let herself be led and twirled gracefully around the living room. It was clear to her where Lucas’ vast improvement on the dance floor had come from. Steve’s movements were fluid and sure, and Max was reminded of a time when she was a little girl and her dad would spin her around and around the house. She missed those times and didn’t know if she would ever be able to reclaim them. She was fooling herself in the beginning that she could even approximate that type of relationship with Neil or Billy. If Hell froze over and their bodies turned into pod people and it were suddenly offered to her, she wouldn’t even _want_ it now. But _this_ felt different. _Steve_ was different than them. He exuded a sense of safety and security from his very pores, and gave off that protective, big-brother vibe she always longed for. Max even thought that years from now when she got married, with her dad not in the picture, that it might just be Steve that she asks to walk her down the aisle.

  
_I'm gonna take a little time_   
_A little time to look around me_   
_I've got nowhere left to hide_   
_It looks like love has finally found me_

_In my life there's been heartache and pain_   
_I don't know if I can face it again_   
_I can't stop now, I've traveled so far_   
_To change this lonely life_

_I wanna know what love is_

  
Max’s content expression consequently relaxed Steve. He let himself get lost in the music and lyrics. Although the words of the song were meant in a more romantic sense, Steve knew now that there were all different forms of love and he felt as if the singer were almost speaking directly to him. He had spent the majority of his life bleeding love out of his heart and desperately trying to earn it back or prove himself worthy of it, to no avail. It wasn’t until the darkest, scariest period of his life that his feelings were reciprocated and he was finally given love freely – without strings attached - and shown the true definition of family. They showed him over and over, and today exhibited it in a gesture so huge, it was almost incomprehensible to him. And despite the circumstances, Steve was grateful for it every day.

  
The song finally ended, and Max released him, but not before giving him a quick hug. “Thank you.”

  
El sidled up behind Steve before he could respond to Max, and gently tugged on his sleeve. She gave him one of her barely-there smiles and pinned him with her quiet, insistent gaze. “My turn.”

  
Mike made a face and looked like he was about to argue, but wisely thought better of it as Foreigner gave way to Cyndi Lauper:

  
_You with the sad eyes_   
_Don't be discouraged_   
_Oh I realize_   
_It's hard to take courage_

  
El was stiffer and a little more serious than Max, but it wasn’t because she wasn’t enjoying herself. She was just concentrating really hard on the song and her steps, and it made her seem more intense than usual.

  
_Show me a smile then_   
_Don't be unhappy, can't remember_   
_When I last saw you laughing_

  
At that particular piece of the second verse, El freed one hand and poked Steve at the corner of his lips with her finger until he unwittingly let a small puff of air out that was close enough to a laugh for her. Sometimes, El didn’t possess the vocabulary to properly express all that she was thinking, but she was getting better at reading people and she wanted Steve to know that she saw him clearly, in her own way. She knew now that not all hurt was physical. There were times it was plainly reflected in his eyes despite his efforts to mask it, and El just wished that she could use her powers to make all it better. Although she wasn’t as demonstrative about it, she cared for him as deeply as the others.

  
_If this world makes you crazy_   
_And you've taken all you can bear_   
_You call me up_   
_Because you know I'll be there_

_And I'll see your true colors_   
_Shining through_   
_I see your true colors_   
_And that's why I love you_   
_So don't be afraid to let them show_   
_Your true colors_   
_True colors are beautiful_   
_Like a rainbow_

  
Once both girls had gotten their dances, leaving Steve somewhat breathless and dumbfounded by their sweet inclusion of him, Joyce reluctantly sent the kids off to shower and bed. It was really late, and they all had to sleep, at least a little. “Okay, girls use Steve’s bathroom. Boys to the other one.” She turned to Steve and patted his cheek. “Do you need anything before I head to bed?”

  
“No, thank you.”

  
“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

  
“Goodnight.” Steve couldn’t resist calling after the retreating figures of the kids, “Better make Dustin go last if you want any hot water for yourselves.”

  
Lucas turned back around. “We know. It’s really a problem.”

  
“What the hell does he do in there anyway,” Steve wondered rhetorically.

  
“Don’t ask, Steve. Just don’t ask,” Lucas advised before following the others. Dustin flipped them both off.

  
Robin hit him lightly on the shoulder. “You’re terrible. You know that, right?” Steve gave her a sly grin that dissolved into a grimace as he shifted. “What you did tonight for those girls was really sweet, Harrington. Those kids look up to you a lot. But it cost you, didn’t it? You need to take something?”

  
“Nah. It’s not that bad. Besides, it was worth it to make them happy.” Steve hobbled over to the couch and dropped flaccidly onto the cushions, fundamentally contradicting himself with both his words and actions. Robin raised her eyebrows at him knowingly. “Okay, fine. When they all get done, I’ll go to bed and take something then. Happy?”

  
“Very. But I’ll be even happier if you lay down and put your feet up. C’mon. Scooch.” Robin waited until he got situated and lifted his legs to sit underneath of them. She began kneading them.

  
“You really don’t have to do that. I’ll be okay,” Steve reassured her, somewhat embarrassed by her fussing over him.

  
“Shut up, Steve. Just enjoy it. And enjoy the fact that your devilish charm is so powerful that you’ve currently got a lesbian massaging you.” The statement was so ridiculous that they both burst out laughing.

  
After that, Steve zoned out and Robin let him grab a few moments of peace while she boredly flipped through the channels. The shower was still running, but the house had grown suspiciously quiet. Steve commented on it, worrying until Robin agreed to get up and check on things. “Everyone’s asleep except whoever just turned off the shower,” she reported back.

  
“Probably Dustin,” Steve assumed.

  
He was proven right a few minutes later when Dustin made his way into the living room. “Assholes fell asleep on me. Can you believe that? And after I sacrificed hot water for those people.”

  
“Sorry, bud.” Steve stretched out a hand. “Why don’t you come over here and tell me more about the dance. How was it? Did you have a good time?”

  
There was that dreamy look from earlier again. “It was really good.” Steve turned on his side and scooted over so Dustin had space to sit. Dustin gave Robin a wary glance before stage-whispering. “I met a girl. We didn’t do much dancing, but we talked _all night_.”

  
“That’s great. I’m really happy for you, man.” Steve pounded a closed fist gently on Dustin’s knee. “Wanna tell me about it?”

  
“Maybe later. It’s kinda late,” Dustin excused, but it was blatantly obvious he would rather discuss it with Steve when it was just the two of them.

  
“I can take a hint,” Robin rose from the couch. “Maybe I’ll just go use the bathroom or something.”

  
“Nononono, Robin. It’s not like that,” Dustin tried to convince her, but was interrupted by a very loud and very obnoxious gurgling sound emanating from the couch. “What was that? Steve, are you okay?”

  
Steve barked out a laugh and poked at his stomach in detached awe. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. I think I’m hungry?”

  
“Holy shit! When your stomach wakes up, it really wakes up, doesn’t it,” Robin teased. “What do you want?”

  
“This is probably going to sound weird, but…ice cream,” Steve inflected it like a question.

  
“You got it! Stay right there! I’ll be right back,” Dustin rushed off to the kitchen in search of Steve’s first craving in weeks, but returned empty-handed. “How can you have a house full of kids and no ice cream? Jesus, what a total travesty.”

  
“You guys probably already ate it all,” Steve stated wryly. “And if there’s any at my house, it’s probably frost-bitten to hell and back.”

  
“Yeah, and there’s not like there’s any all-night ice cream places in Hawkins,” Dustin grumbled dejectedly.

  
“What if there was,” Robin dangled a set of keys from her fingers enticingly. “It’s technically not open, but it could be.”

  
“You’re crazy. You’re actually certifiable,” Steve said in disbelief.

  
“Crazy? Or genius?” Robin swung the keys a little more forcefully, jangling them.

  
“I vote genius. I am so in,” Dustin said in awe of Robin’s brilliant suggestion, enthusiastically shooting up from his seat and not waiting for Steve’s response before running off to gather their shoes and jackets.

  
“This is crazy. _I_ must be crazy. This is nuts,” Steve kept repeating as he grabbed a notepad and a pen from the refrigerator. “I’m at least going to leave Mrs. Byers a note. I don’t want her to worry. She’s had enough of that for a lifetime. And if we get caught, I’m going to claim I was kidnapped and force-fed cherry garcia.”

  
“You have no sense of adventure. Just get in the car, Harrington,” Robin pushed him out the door. “And why cherry garcia?”

  
“Because ew, gross. Does anyone actually _like_ that flavor,” Steve was disgusted by the mere thought.

  
Robin started her car as she laid out the plan. “So, I’ll drop you guys off at the back door and then go park somewhere out of sight. I’ll turn off the alarm and then let you in the back door. Sound good?”

  
No one objected and Robin was cruising into the deserted mall parking lot fifteen minutes later. She pulled around to the shipping and receiving entrance and dropped the two boys off before jetting off to stash the car out of plain view of any nosy passersby.

  
Dustin scrutinized his friend under the glow of the light poised above the back door to illuminate the alley, as he so often did when he didn’t think Steve was looking. The yellow tint to the bulb gave Steve an even more sallow appearance. “Are you really okay, Steve? You just seem, I don’t know, extra down or extra tired or in more pain or something?”

  
“Yeah, I’m good, man.” Steve moved restlessly from foot to foot to alleviate the pressure on his joints from standing on a hard surface like asphalt. And maybe it was also a little from the nerves that had been building, too. The golden opportunity of having Dustin separated from the rest of the group to speak with privately had presented itself and Steve couldn’t let it pass without broaching the subject that had been weighing on his mind all day. “No more than usual. But I have been thinking about something and was kinda wondering if you could help me with it this weekend.”

  
Dustin was always ready to jump in with both feet without pause whenever Steve was concerned. He placed a hand on the older teen’s forearm to relay his sincerity. “Whatever you need, I’ll do it. I mean, after all, I am here in the middle of the night ready to break into Robin’s workplace to fulfill your food request, am I not?”

  
Steve chuckled a bit at that. “I know you will, and I appreciate it, Dusty. More than you know.” Steve let his other hand fall on top of Dustin’s and gave it a brief squeeze. “Remember what you did for me the first time I went through this? Can you do that again?”

  
Searching the recesses of his mind, Dustin was coming up empty. Not willing or able to say the actual words, Steve was throwing him a look chocked full of meaning that Dustin still failed to decipher until the older boy accompanied it by a demonstration. Steve drew a hand through his thinning locks and a clump came out between his fingers. He glumly let it flutter from his palm down onto the wet concrete. “Oh.”

  
“Yeah. It’s inevitable. It’s time,” Steve declared resolutely.

  
“Of course – of course I will,” Dustin chewed on his lip thoughtfully. “But are you sure you wanna do it this weekend? Everyone’s going to be there the entire time, and you might have an audience. Would that bother you if you did?”

  
Steve pondered this for several minutes. _Would it_ bother him? “I don’t think so. Maybe before. But now? Now it seems less traumatic somehow. I’m not really as sad about it this time. Maybe because I’ve already been through it and you’ve all seen me in worse shape. Maybe because I know it will grow back. Maybe because I know there are way more horrible things to deal with than that. I don’t know, but I just know I’m ready.”

  
Dustin grabbed onto Steve like a drowning man clings to a life preserver and just held on for dear life. “You don’t have to explain. You don’t _ever_ have to justify to me the way you feel about your illness or how it affects you. Okay,” Dustin said into his ear. “I’ll do whatever you need. Just say when.”

  
Steve sniffled a bit and nodded against Dustin’s shoulder before pulling back. He knew deep down that he didn’t require permission from anyone to feel a certain way about everything that was happening to him, but somehow, in his infinite wisdom, Dustin understood the need for validation. Dustin understood - even before Steve fully realized it himself - that it was still something Steve needed to hear. “Maybe…maybe Sunday morning before I go back to the hospital. If everyone’s still sleeping, fine, but if people are up, then it’ll be what it’ll be.”

  
“You got it,” Dustin gave Steve his most reassuring smile right before Robin opened the door and he had to dodge it to keep from getting smacked in the back.

  
She waved them in quickly. “Let’s go. Free ice cream inside awaits.”

  
Steve plucked out his wallet. “No. Trespassing is bad enough. We’re definitely paying for it.”

  
“Steve, since when do you keep a wallet in your pajamas,” Dustin asked innocently.

  
Steve bopped him fondly on the head with the rectangle of leather. “Gee, for someone so smart, you can be pretty clueless sometimes. It was in my jacket, dipshit.”

  
“Guys. Guys! As glad as I am that you have a moral center, we _can’t_ pay. It’d be like holding up a neon sign shouting ‘we were here’,” Robin validly pointed out as she rounded the counter. “Now, what does everyone want?”

  
Steve followed her, peering at all the different flavors as Dustin blurted out his order. “A U.S.S. Butterscotch, please.”

  
“Ugh. You _would_ choose the most complicated thing to make,” Robin complained, rolling her eyes.

  
“I’ll make it.” Steve yanked the scooper out of her hand. “What? It’s not like I suddenly forgot how.”

  
“Jesus Christ, sit down,” and “Go sit down, Steve,” overlapped each other as Robin and Dustin uttered their almost identical commands at basically the same time. Surprisingly, Robin’s voice was louder and won out. “What do you feel like?”

  
Steve sat down at the nearest booth and laid his forehead on the table. “I don’t know. It’s all a crapshoot. Surprise me.”

  
Dustin proudly carried his mountain of ice cream over to the booth as Robin cupped hers and placed a banana split with three different flavors of ice cream in front of Steve. “Three flavors gives you three choices in case one isn’t going down so well. And I figured you should have something at least semi-nutritious. Hence, the banana.”

  
“Thank you. Cheers.” Steve took a small, tentative bite of each flavor. “Chocolate is definitely the winner.”

  
“Here. We can make it all chocolate.” Robin hopped up and retrieved the container of hot fudge and proceeded to smother the dish with it. Dustin, refusing to be left out, added even more to his own dish. “Steve here needs the calories, but you’re going to give yourself diabetes, junior dingus.”

  
Having a mouthful of ice cream, Dustin had to settle for flipping her off instead of firing off a sarcastic retort. It was just hard to take him seriously with chocolate sauce smeared down his chin.

  
The trio were slowing down on their consumption. Steve was staring at the remains of his with wide eyes as if he were assessing whether he could fit the rest in his stomach, and was almost personally affronted by the notion that he might just be able to do so. A loud _bang_ from the back room caused the three of them to nearly jump out of their skin.

  
A very disgruntled, very pissed off Hopper came from the back room, reholstering his gun. “Just what in the _Sam Hell_ do the three of you think you’re doing?”

  
“Busted,” Robin tried to hide an amused smile. She obviously hadn’t had a chance to see just how intimidating the towering policeman could be.

  
Dustin’s spoon slipped from his grasp and landed with a clatter in his nearly empty bowl. “Oh shitshitshitshit.”

  
“I was kidnapped,” Steve offered unhelpfully.

  
Hopper planted his hands on his hips and glared menacingly at the trio. “Well, I’m waiting. And this’d better be good.”

  
“Eating ice cream?” Steve’s second reply was equally as unhelpful as his first one.

  
“Really? Couldn’t tell,” Hopper snapped acerbically. “You have about three seconds to give me a damn good reason to explain to me why I shouldn’t throw all of you in a holding tank right now. Or better yet, bring you back to Joyce’s so you can tell her to her face why you snuck out and left her alone with five other kids, to worry after your asses all night!”

  
“I left her a note,” Steve mumbled meekly.

  
“Oh, well you left her a note,” Hopper chuckled sans humor as he paced. “That makes it okay. She won’t worry at all with someone else’s kid gone all night with two other teenagers – one we barely know and one that’s really sick that was just yesterday…Oh, where were you yesterday? Oh, that’s right. The freakin’ _hospital!_ That we argued so hard for you to get out of so you could have a break which the doctors only agreed to if you took it easy and _stayed in the damn house!"_

  
Tears gathered in Steve’s lashes at the sudden raise in volume. When Hopper presented it so concisely and bluntly, it profoundly rattled him. Even if the delivery was exceedingly harsh, it didn’t change the fact that everything he said was true. It brought to memory the fight he had with Hopper after he took the kids to the arcade in between hospital stays the last go-round. Horrible words were exchanged, but the crux of it was that the policeman was _worried_ and _cared_ about the teenager’s well-being, and Steve suddenly felt very small and ashamed and regretful to have taken that for granted. After everything the two adults had done for him, including recently, the last thing he ever wanted to do was disappoint them or cause them any more turmoil. “I – I –“

  
“Steve was really hungry, and the only thing he thought he could tolerate was ice cream,” Dustin rushed out an explanation to appease the angry cop and divert some of his wrath off of Steve. “Mrs. Byers didn’t have any and there was no place open that would’ve had any, either. It wasn’t his idea. I know it was dumb of us, but Steve hasn’t really been able to eat anything substantial in weeks. We just wanted to give him the chance to before he has to do this all over again in a couple days.”

  
“I’m – I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking,” Steve whispered remorsefully as Robin wordlessly – and smartly – began clearing away any evidence of their middle-of-the-night ice cream spree.

  
Hopper exhaled long and slow, regaining some control over his temper. However defensible his outburst was, it wouldn’t solve the problem at hand. Absorbing Dustin’s rationale and Steve’s distraught countenance, he softened his approach and bent down to the older teen’s level, cupping the back of his head affectionately. Steve flinched slightly at his touch, so Hopper made sure to keep his voice lowered. “I do. I get it now, Steve. I do, but we’ve talked about stuff like this. You can’t _do_ this.”

  
“But I didn’t go off with Dustin by myself. Robin’s here too, so if something bad happened…,” Steve began.

  
“That’s good. That’s important, but that’s not the only issue here. Technically, you broke the law and if I wasn’t the officer on duty responding to the alarm, who knows what could’ve happened?” Hopper was being as delicate as he could without dismissing the seriousness of the potential consequences.

  
“Wait. Hold on,” Robin held up a hand. “I turned off the alarm with the code. I made sure of it.”

  
“Not the alarm to the mall. It’s automatically set to turn on and off at specific times, so you don’t have to deal with it in individual shops,” Hopper clarified. Robin had the good sense to appear chastised at that revelation. “Yeah. So, we need to get outta here before any other units show up because I didn’t report in fast enough. My car’s over by what I assume is yours’, so I’ll walk you out.”

  
Robin flipped off all the lights as Steve rose stiffly and shuffled over to the door beside Dustin and Hopper. She locked up and they began the long trek to her car. This night had not exactly turned out the way she had hoped. Her aim was to give Steve a fun time – a mini-vacation away from anything having to do with his disease while simultaneously satisfying his rare desire for a particular food. Instead, it had become a disaster of epic proportions that hadn’t made him forget his troubles at all. If anything, it just added more to them. And the stress from it all seemed to be physically manifesting itself as she observed his slumped posture and watched him stagger along beside his friends, trudging forward with increasing difficulty as the limp apparent since earlier this evening grew even more prominent. Robin shot Hopper a look to see if he noticed. He did.

  
“Okay, kid. Up you go.” Hopper scooped up the struggling teen before he stepped down off the sidewalk and proceeded to carry him across the empty parking lot.

  
“Jesus, Hop! Put me down! I’m not an invalid,” Steve protested vehemently. “I don’t need to be carried. I’m capable of walking.”

  
“Yes, I know you’re capable of walking, but what you’re not capable of doing right now is walking _fast_. We need to beat feat back to the car, once again, before any other cop cars show up and take this outta my hands, Chief or not,” Hopper said frankly. What he had told the teen was one hundred percent true, but it was also agonizing to see Steve wrestle with the unforgiving symptoms of his disease and subsequent treatment, and frequently lose the battle to keep them at bay so he could function at the most basic level. This way, Hopper could do something more than sit idly by, and even though Steve’s dignity took a bit of a hit, it temporarily reduced some of the pain that crept into his bones.

  
Hopper deposited Steve into the passenger seat of Robin’s car. He reached around to click the seatbelt in place, although the teen could’ve done that himself. Still somewhat humiliated by being hauled around like a sack of potatoes, Steve asked in a very childlike voice, “Are we in trouble? What are you going to tell the alarm company?”

  
“The truth,” Steve gave a small gasp, panicking a bit at Hopper’s succinct and terrifying response – until he noticed the policeman’s eyes crinkling at the corners. “That I found three very large rats that tripped the alarm system. Now go straight home. And Steve? I know you’re hurting, so take some medicine before you go to bed.” At that, the policeman gave Steve’s shoulder a pat and slammed the door shut. Sighing in relief, but also enormously grateful for the fatherly concern shown to him, Steve mouthed a ‘thank you’ through the window. Hopper tipped his hat and returned to his vehicle.

  
They made it home just as the first streaks of light were appearing in the East. Thankfully, everyone was still asleep. Steve took his medicine as promised, and he soon followed suit.

  
Saturday was a lazy day. Steve was tired from the excursion last night, but he felt a bit stronger than he had the day before and was even able to eat a little of dinner. In the evening, he was more than content to sit on the sidelines and watch the kids engage in their Dungeons and Dragons game, Robin beside him, whom he’d been able to convince to stay the rest of the weekend to get to know the kids better.

  
Slowly, the kids were acclimating to her. Dustin a little faster than the rest, for obvious reasons. It was all so refreshingly mundane and routine that it did just as much for his mental health as being disconnected from the chemo did for him physically. Steve knew that tomorrow would be hard, though. Going back to the hospital was never easy, and as much as he professed to Dustin – and himself - that this time around it didn’t affect him as much, Steve still had his moments when the idea of losing his hair again bothered him deeply and sent his self-consciousness into overdrive. But it was going to happen whether he helped it along or not, and he just had to accept that fact.

  
As promised, Dustin wordlessly woke him up early the next morning by tapping on his shoulder to avoid disturbing Robin. They padded silently to the bathroom across the hall where Steve had stashed all the supplies the night before. He held onto his hat for later, but handed Dustin the razor along with the extension cord for outside and a towel.

  
Unexpectedly, Mrs. Byers was sitting at the kitchen table sipping on coffee and smoking a cigarette as she flipped through a magazine. Alerted to the two’s presence, she hurriedly stubbed out her cigarette and fanned away the smoke, distracted by it at first. “Sorry. Boys, what are you doing up so early? I’ve got coffee on if you want some.” Joyce finally caught sight of the tool held loosely in Dustin’s fist and their motive for being up before the others was suddenly heartbreakingly and poignantly crystal clear. “Steve.”

  
That one word – his name – that fell from her lips conveyed all the love and sorrow, all the support and empathy and pain on his behalf that the motherly instinct infused into her very soul wished to transmit to him from deep within her like the strongest radio signal. That same instinct left her no other alternative than to lavish the stricken boy before her with all the affection and nurturing he could handle – or would accept – in the face of his most recent plight.

  
Steve’s armor, so flimsily fabricated against this morning’s latest casualty of his disease, was being eroded bit by bit. Joyce’s simple, yet meaningful utterance had emotionally stripped him bare and coaxed his heart out involuntarily to be displayed on his sleeve for all to see. Steve fought to keep up the pretense of his shield a little longer, but he knew he was failing miserably. He cleared his throat to steady his voice. “We were – we were going to do it outside so we didn’t make a mess.”

  
Joyce’s eyes flicked back and forth between the kitchen window and the teenagers, and she grimaced, wary to complicate an already difficult situation. “Oh, honey. It’s -it’s raining. And like forty degrees. You – you could do it in here if you want. I could leave and you know, give you privacy. Keep the kids out.”

  
Dustin turned to Steve for guidance. “What do you want to do?”

  
Steve deliberated with himself and summoned up all the courage he possibly could. Backing out wasn’t an option. “We can just do it here,” he said more boldly than he felt. “Do you have newspapers we can lay down or something?”

  
“Don’t worry about that. We can just sweep it up later.” Joyce pulled out a kitchen chair and led Steve over to it as Dustin set up the other things. She sat him down and stroked his hair, having to turn away to hide the moisture swimming in her eyes when a chunk came out in her hand. “I’ll just step out for a bit.”

  
“No. No, don’t go,” Steve reached out for her hand, fighting against every innate reflex to protect the others from his unpleasantly reality, and in turn guard himself from their potentially sorrowful reactions. “It’s okay. You can – you can stay.”

  
“Alright, sweetheart.” Joyce kept ahold of his one hand and used her other to adjust the towel over his shoulders, clipping it shut with a clothespin to keep it in place as she squatted down to his level. She tenderly caressed his cheek and brushed back what little bangs he had left, kissing a spot on his forehead next to her hand. “You remember what I told you the first time about how beautiful and brave and strong you are?” Steve gave the very faintest of nods. “Good. Because it’s still true. I wanna hear you say it. Tell me you believe it, too.”

  
Steve averted his gaze, ashamed of how Joyce’s effortless comfort could evoke such a vulnerable and emotional response from him time after time. She gently steered his head back to center and forced him to look her in the eyes. “Steve. Please…say you believe it. Say the words for me, sweetheart.”

  
He drew in a shaky breath and pushed the words past trembling lips. “I believe it.” It was barely audible and uncertain, but it made Joyce smile softly.

  
“Good. Now tell me what you believe,” Joyce whispered, almost reverently.

  
“That I’m b-brave. Strong,” Steve managed to stutter out the first couple words, but he was choking on the rest. Joyce murmured praise for him to keep going. A sob escaped his throat as one lone, fat tear rolled down his cheek. “I’m – I’m b-beautiful.”

  
“Damn right, you are, sweetheart. And don’t you forget it,” Joyce said emphatically.

  
Dustin had let the scene unfold without interruption, granting his friend whatever amount of time he needed to finish coming to terms with his decision. When both Mrs. Byers and Steve glanced up at him, he took that as his cue. “Are you ready, Steve?”

  
Steve blew out one more tremulous breath and blinked away the remaining wetness from his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m ready.”

  
Before beginning, Dustin had a sudden urge and impulsively wrapped his arms around Steve’s neck to speak his own words of encouragement. “I got you, buddy. I got you. You’re a fucking warrior, remember?”

  
Without waiting for a response, Dustin switched the clippers on and brought them in close proximity to the remaining brunette strands. He was barely touching the hair and it was already cascading to the floor in huge clumps. Steve clenched his eyes shut to avoid seeing it and unconsciously grasped for Joyce’s hand again. She caught his flailing hand in both of hers. “You’re doing great, sweetheart. It’ll be over soon.”

  
Dustin pressed a little harder and it elicited a hiss from Steve. “What? What, did I hurt you?”

  
“No. No, it’s just more sore and sensitive than last time,” Steve grit out. “Just keep going.”

  
The commotion from the kitchen had dragged Robin and the other five kids out of bed prematurely to investigate what all the noise was. Mrs. Byers halted them in the hallway with merely a look, desperately trying to get them to turn around and go back to bed without drawing Steve’s attention to the fact that he now had an audience.

  
Dustin’s back was initially to the group, but when he circled Steve to take one last pass at the remains of his hair to make sure he got it all, he too became aware of their presence. The clippers inadvertently momentarily faltered away from their target, but not enough for Steve to notice. Max opened her mouth to speak, but Dustin shut it with a sharp shake of his head. Dustin resumed his task while frantically pleading with them silently to leave, just like Joyce had done, but they could not be persuaded to remove themselves from the situation in the event Steve needed additional support.

  
Seeing it was futile to stall any longer and extend Steve’s torment, Dustin flipped the clippers off and stepped directly in front of Steve to block his view. “I’m done.”

  
“Thank you, Dusty,” Steve whispered without opening his eyes. He blindly reached out for Dustin and hugged him around the waist, causing Dustin’s heart to contract painfully in his chest at Steve actively seeking out the physical contact from him in his obvious distress. Mrs. Byers enveloped both of them.

  
Steve clutched the hat tightly in his fist. Dustin pried his fingers open and removed it. “You’re welcome. Here, let me.” He carefully, but quickly arranged the hat the way Steve preferred to wear it, so when he discovered the others in the room he’d be covered and somewhat less embarrassed by the abrupt change in his appearance.

  
When Steve finally opened his eyes and encountered six additional faces staring back at him, expressions somewhere between horrified and pitying, and understanding they had witnessed more than he was comfortable with, he was absolutely mortified. He bolted out of the chair towards his room. Dustin grabbed his forearm before he could run off completely. “Steve…It’s okay.”

  
“I know. I just – I just need a minute, okay,” Steve said without pausing his steps, feeling irrationally betrayed by their viewing of something meant for only the original three people in the room. It wasn’t necessarily their fault that they had seen. He just wasn’t ready to be so exposed. “I need to pack anyway.”

  
His name was hurled at his back, along with a chorus of “we love yous” and “it’s okays”, but he refused to stop, needing to deal with his insecurities and shame in private.

  
Dustin silenced them all. “Just let him be guys. Just give him some time.”

  
An hour had passed, and that was all the time Robin decided she was going to spare him. That was more than ample opportunity to pack and wallow in self-pity. She marched into the bedroom without knocking, package tucked under her arm. “Enough introspection. Time to get up and rejoin the rest of us.” She shoved the shoebox she was carrying at him.

  
Despite his irritation at the intrusion, he was curious. “What is this?”

  
“Just open it.”

  
Steve removed the lid. “My hair? You put _my hair_ in a box and for some sick, twisted reason decided to _give it to me_. What the hell am I supposed to do with it?”

  
“Bury it. Have a funeral,” Robin said simply and shrugged. “You need to mourn it and get some closure, otherwise you’re always going to feel like shit about it.”

  
“This is absolutely one of the strangest things anyone has ever suggested to me in my entire life. You know this is out there, even for you?” Steve was incredulous at her ludicrous proposition.

  
It took a massive amount of convincing on Robin’s part before Steve capitulated and went along with her bizarre idea. In the end, he didn’t know if it was because her sound rationale was bringing him around to her side or because he just wanted to get her to stop. But he leaned towards the latter.

  
When Hopper pulled his cruiser into the driveway in preparation for taking Steve back to the hospital, he found the group huddled outside in a semi-circle. He sidled up beside his daughter. “What are we doing out here?”

  
“Funeral. For Steve’s hair,” El said straightforwardly, as if there was nothing odd in the least about it.

  
Hopper raised his eyebrows in shock and furrowed his brow in confusion. “Oh.”

  
“This is weird,” Mike grumbled. “I don’t see how this is going to help Steve at all.”

  
Lucas elbowed him in the ribs as Dustin piped up. “Maybe it will. Maybe it won’t. But on the remote chance it does, it’s worth a shot.”

  
Hopper couldn’t believe he was saying this, but he was actually with Mike on this one. Those kids had come up with some wild, crazy, and at times, reckless schemes over the years, but this might just take the cake. He waited, not quite patiently for Robin to give her “eulogy” and help Steve replace the dirt on top of the shoebox that Hopper now saw sunken into the muddy earth.

  
As the group drifted back inside, Steve had hung back, and Hopper couldn’t stop himself from commenting. “This is definitely a new one on me, kid. Can’t say I’ve ever heard of this.”

  
Steve shrugged. “Robin’s idea.”

  
“Do you really think it’ll help you? Pretty strange if you ask me.”

  
Steve shrugged again and subconsciously adjusted his hat. “Don’t know. But it’s definitely not the worst thing I’ve had to do today.”

  
Hopper slung an arm around his shoulders, squeezing affectionately as he helped Steve back inside.

  
After supper, they loaded into their cars and checked Steve back into the hospital. No one was very happy about it, least of all Steve, but it was unavoidable. As he was settled back into his room, bag unloaded and reconnected to the IV, the oncologist knocked on the door and let himself in. “Ah, welcome back, Mr. Harrington. Right on time. I trust you had an uneventful weekend at home.”

  
Steve mechanically nodded. It was highly unusual for an attending doctor to make an appearance on a Sunday evening, so everyone knew something was up. Hopper surmised this as well, and wasn’t patient enough to wade through the small talk. “You’re not usually here at this time on a weekend. So, what gives?”

  
“You’re absolutely correct. I’m not, but I had some news to deliver to Steven that I felt couldn’t wait.” He flipped through the papers on his clipboard. “And it’s good that the majority of you are here. It saves me from speaking with you individually. Of course, I will reach out to those that aren’t present-“

  
“Doc,” Hopper’s tone was warning of his waning patience. “Don’t keep the kid and the rest of us in suspense. Spit out what you’re trying to say.”

  
“The results are back on everyone who got tested to see if their bone marrow matched Steven’s.” The group waited for the doctor to follow up that statement, but he was hesitating for some reason.

  
“And,” Hopper prompted, annoyed that the oncologist wasn’t just immediately being forthright.

  
The oncologist spent another few moments double checking the paperwork in his hand. “Well…,” he began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it wasn't...nice of me to leave it here, but as I said, this chapter was already lengthy and it seemed a good place to cut it off. A couple comments: I know Steve's obsession with ice cream seems weird, but it's accurate. I caught a nasty stomach bug right after Thanksgiving. Between that and the treatment, it wasn't until quarantine that I could eat pretty normally. One of only 3 things I could get down (only one of which had any nutritional value) was M&Ms. I didn't understand it, but you just kinda have to go with what works. And, I'm sure it's different for everyone, but I know when more significant hair loss is coming. The scalp gets really sensitive and kinda hurts like if you had gotten a sunburn on your head - hence Steve's comment towards the end. The first song in this chapter is "I Want To Know What Love Is" by Foreigner and the second is "True Colors" by Cyndi Lauper. * The phrase Robin refers to comes from Samuel Taylor Coleridge's poem "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner". Lastly, I know Steve emotions are all over the map, but sometimes that's how it goes, so that's how I portrayed it. I know not everyone has the same experience, but I did my best to capture the emotions. I at least hope you enjoyed this part and it moved you in some way. Stay well!


	13. I'm Just Soggy From the Chemo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The results have an unexpected outcome. As Steve's situation grows more dire, both his parents and Billy make an appearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for side effects and oblique insinuations of abuse and neglect. I didn't plan this, but interestingly enough when I researched it, the Be the Match program I mention was started in 1986, perfectly lining up with the timeline of this story. As always, happy reading and I hope everyone is staying healthy!

The oncologist spent another few moments double checking the paperwork in his hand. “Well…,” he began, rifling one last time through the file as if stalling. “I wish I had better news, but unfortunately Steven, none of your friends and family that have gotten tested so far are a match.”

  
“What? That’s impossible! Check again,” Max demanded.

  
“I don’t understand,” Lucas was perplexed. “Statistically, one of us _should_ have matched.”

  
Hopper steepled his hands in front of his face. Each passing day – and each person that was eliminated from the donor pool – only decreased Steve’s chances that much further. He muttered one word to himself. Whether it was said in vain or meant as a silent prayer, the policeman wasn’t sure. Maybe it was both. “Jesus.”

  
There were varying degrees of devastation stamped onto all of The Party’s faces. Hopper and Joyce’s expressions were more neutral, but only through tremendous effort. Steve was the only occupant of the room who didn’t appear as if the world just came crashing down. He wore an odd look, almost as if he were relieved.

  
Once the initial shock and disappointment had ebbed, Dustin posed the most logical question, refusing to entertain the notion that all hope was lost. He was steadfast, and also seemingly alone, in his belief that more could be done. “So, what’s next?”

  
“Yeah. What does that even mean? Is that it? Steve’s just out of options,” Mike erroneously assumed, ignoring Dustin’s very crucial and more optimistic question in his indignation.

  
“I’d like to know that, too,” Joyce quietly seethed. “I’d like to know why you felt it was so important to give Steve the bad news tonight instead of waiting until morning to tell him that there’s nothing you can do for him.”

  
“Whoa, slow down. I never said that,” the doctor held up his hands, palms to the group. “In fact, my purpose for coming tonight wasn’t solely to deliver the bad news, but to present another option. Quite a number of patients find themselves in Steven’s position with no suitable donors to choose from amongst their family and friends, particularly patients without siblings such as Steven. Steven’s case is further complicated in that he has a relatively uncommon blood type with atypical antigens that will make finding an exact match more difficult. But there’s been an interesting development up in Minnesota. It’s only in the beginning stages, but there is an organization that is amassing a national database of those in need of a bone marrow transplant so they can be matched with an anonymous donor throughout the country. If Steven consents, we will submit his information in the hopes that we could find such a match. It will likely be a slow process because it’s only in the infantile stages, so it’s best to get started as soon as possible. There are no guarantees, but I truly believe this is Steven’s best chance for finding the appropriate donor, and therefore of potentially curing his cancer.”

  
This was all an astronomical amount of information to take in, with theoretically life-changing implications. Steve was having trouble wrapping his mind around all of it as he so often did with the higher scientific principles which were much more suited to the kids’ intellect than to his. His comprehension ability was additionally hampered by the poison being dripped into his veins that pickled his brain and diminished his processing centers even further. The fact that he was certain of though, is that he’d do whatever it took to _live_. “I want to do it. Sign me up.”

  
A faint smile flitted across the doctor’s lips. “I was really hoping you’d say that. I’ll have the necessary paperwork drawn up and ready for you to sign by tomorrow. In the meantime, just try to relax. Any questions?”

  
“Actually, yes.” Steve rarely asked about what was going to happen to him. Sometimes he thought it was because he was afraid of the answers. This time, however, he decided he’d rather be prepared. He just didn’t know how to phrase it. “Is everything else staying the same? I mean, while I’m waiting, am I still doing all… this?”

  
“If you’re referring to your treatment, then yes. We’ll complete this cycle as planned and evaluate your status with a biopsy with the expectation that you can resume weekly treatments – albeit at a higher dosage than before. It’s still imperative that we remain aggressive and keep ahead of it,” the oncologist explained. “Of course, remission is our ultimate goal which is not entirely out of the realm of possibility, but at the very least our aim is to keep the cancer in check and buy you enough time to find a suitable donor.”

  
Steve was slightly disheartened at the prospect of the continued harsher treatments, but he understood the rationale behind it. He didn’t have to like it, though. “Yeah. Okay.”

  
“If there’s nothing else, then…” The group swiveled their heads towards Steve who slowly shook his own. “Alright then. I’ll be back tomorrow with the documents.”

  
As the doctor exited the hospital room, Joyce hovered near Steve, finally situating herself on the edge of the bed. “Steve, we have to get the kids home, but would you like one of us to stay with you, sweetheart? This – this was a lot to take in. I hate to leave you alone after all this.”

  
“I’ll be fine. I promise,” Steve added when he saw the doubt present in Joyce’s stare. “Please just go home and get some sleep while you can.”

  
There was clear hesitation on their parts, but eventually Steve convinced the group that he could manage one night in the hospital by himself since the majority of effects from the chemo were not likely to hit full force until the following day. Reluctantly, they said their goodbyes and Steve let the tension bleed out of his shoulders. Quite frankly, he needed some time on his own to cope with the hand he’d been dealt. Between staving off a barrage of symptoms and being surrounded by his supportive and well-meaning surrogate family around the clock, he hardly had any occasion to just think in peace.

  
Tomorrow he’d eagerly sign the paperwork to be listed for an anonymous transplant. It wasn’t because it was seemingly his only option. Steve didn’t dare voice that he was actually _happy_ that none of them had matched – especially after all they had done for him. _Because_ of all they had done for him. His confession might unintentionally hurt them when all he wanted to do was protect them from experiencing even a fraction of the pain that he had. They deserved better than to share in his fate, even if only briefly.

  
Steve had intended to keep that dirty little secret to himself for all eternity – that was, until a couple of days later, when he woke up to a surprise afternoon visit from a deeply troubled Mike Wheeler that necessitated all those covert plans be shot to hell.

  
Mike knew there would be an almost hour gap today between when Mrs. Byers had to leave for work and when the kids could get to the hospital after school, so he had taken advantage of that bit of information and ducked out of last period unannounced. Since Sunday, Mike hadn’t been able to stop the thoughts that unrelentingly assaulted him. They were slung like arrows from his psyche, piercing his brain and embedding in it firmly by their serrated edges, each tip emblazoned with one word – a name - “Steve”, the subject of his dark ruminations. The only way to rid himself of the festering wounds would be to unburden his conscience in private, so Mike had skipped class without so much as a hint to his friends. By the time they figured out he was gone and where to, his mission would be complete.

  
The younger boy studied the older teen while he slept, a stream of sunlight kissing the hand that lay flat against the mattress and highlighting the map of blue veins that were much too pronounced through the translucent, paper-thin skin. Steve’s hat had been knocked askew as he nuzzled into the pillow, revealing more of those spidery blue veins crawling across his scalp and disappearing under the green beanie. The machinery droned on in the background, forming a monotonous rhythm with the harmonious respirations of the figure in the bed, interrupted only by the occasional hitching of a breath from some unseen torture that his body was undergoing at that moment.

  
Steve was so small now. So frail. He was miles away from the Steve in Mike’s not-so-distant memories. The Steve that played basketball and dated his sister. The Steve that seemed to always be present at family holidays and made dumb jokes with his dad and helped his mom in the kitchen. The Steve that fought demodogs and Billy Hargrove in the same night, and then a few months later, drove Dustin to the dance and then the rest of them wherever they wanted. The Steve he was an _absolute shit to_ for no apparent reason other than his own sour moods and misplaced anger at anything and anyone in the world outside his impenetrable circle of friends.

  
All Steve had ever done was help them, and all Mike had done in return was rudely shoot off his mouth with a constant onslaught of criticism and ridicule directed at the affable teen. He had instantly blamed Steve when he and Nancy had separated, never imagining for one second that _Nancy_ was the one at fault, stringing him along and cheating on him instead of granting him the honesty he deserved. Steve’s heart was broken yet he went back to _apologize_ for transgressions he didn’t commit, and wound up saving his ex and her new boyfriend from certain death, involving himself in a never-ending nightmare. The next year he guarded her brother and his friends from otherworldly threats and Billy Hargrove almost simultaneously, once again loyally placing himself in the line of fire without a second thought to his own safety. At one point or another, he had protected and saved them all, but when it came time for them to save Steve, they couldn’t even return the favor. They failed. _Mike_ failed. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  
The only response was a droplet of blood materializing in Steve’s nostril and trickling down to collect above his lip before curling around his mouth and dripping onto his chin. Mike was hypnotized by the red stream for a few seconds, but when it continued to flow steadily, he plucked a tissue from the box on the nightstand and dabbed at the coppery liquid.

  
Steve recoiled from the sudden contact, squinting his eyes at the teenager in front of him and subsequently the clock. It wasn’t the mid-afternoon nap that was making it more difficult for his eyes to adjust to the change in brightness and blurring his vision, but yet another wonderful side effect of the treatment. “Mike. What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be in school?”

  
“Your nose is bleeding,” Mike stated in lieu of an explanation which caused Steve to raise his fingertips to his upper lip and blot at it before pulling them back to glimpse the crimson that covered them. Mike held out the box of tissues. “Here. I skipped because I needed to see you alone. To tell you something.”

  
Steve scooted up in the bed and bunched up several tissues, pressing them against his nostril to stem the outpouring of blood, as a result muffling his voice slightly. “Why would you do that? What’s so important that it couldn’t wait an hour?”

  
Mike’s attention oscillated between Steve’s sympathetic, yet confused eyes to the IV tubing disappearing into his chest and back to his increasingly angular face, the tissues held against it showing a rapidly spreading scarlet stain. Something inside the younger boy just broke at the sight, and he launched himself at his older friend with such force that Steve reflexively scrambled further up in the bed and dropped the tissues to receive the boy in his arms.

  
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry that Nancy dumped you and I blamed you for it and treated you like _garbage_. I’m sorry I always made fun of your sports references and treated you like you were stupid when you’ve done nothing but defend us with your street smarts and accept us for who we are. I’m sorry we didn’t listen, and Billy almost _killed you_ because of it,” Mike sobbed out.

  
“Hey. Hey Mike, it’s okay,” Steve began as he labored to hold on to the hysterical teen.

  
“No! It’s not okay! I’m sorry that when you were first diagnosed, I thought it was dumb to throw you a party and gave the others so much crap about it when they were right all along. I should’ve _wanted_ to do something nice for you after all you’ve done for us. I’m sorry you’re in so much pain and so sick all the time and there’s nothing we can do to help you. I’m sorry that you saved me in the tunnels -saved all of us - and we can’t do the same for you,” Mike rushed out in between his blubbering gulps of air. “I’m _sorry_ I didn’t match you. I’m so sorry that _I_ can’t save _you_.”

  
“Mike. Mike, listen to me, okay,” Steve murmured into the thick, wavy dark hair. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Nothing at all! Believe me, I’ve made my fair share of mistakes – especially where it concerns your sister and Will’s brother and how I handled all of it, so I’m the last person to talk, but you can’t apologize for things that are so clearly out of your control.”

  
“But-,” Mike started to thickly protest, still clinging onto Steve and unable to look him in the eye after his profession of guilt.

  
“Do you blame me for getting sick?” Perceiving that Mike was still unconvinced, Steve tried a different tactic to illustrate his point.

  
“What? That’s dumb,” Mike snapped, but dampened his belligerent tone, not meaning to direct his anger towards Steve. “ _Of course not!_ You can’t help it that your blood cells are forming a mutiny against your immune system. There’s _no way_ you could control that.”

  
“That’s one way to put it, I guess,” Steve said offhandedly to himself. “So…if I’m not expected to have complete control over my blood cells what makes you think that you can command your blood cells to match up with mine? Huh? None of it is your fault, Mike, anymore than it is mine. You _tried_ and you’re _here_. That’s what matters to me, and it’s more than enough.”

  
“It’s not enough. It won’t _ever be_ enough,” Mike insisted passionately.

  
Nothing Steve said was working to assuage the guilt his younger friend mistakenly carried on his behalf. It was time to be completely honest and reduce some of the weight Mike shouldered. “To tell you the whole truth, I’m _relieved_ that none of you matched. I couldn’t bear the thought of any of you going through any of this -even for one second.”

  
“How can you say that? Don’t you want to get better,” Mike asked defensively.

  
“ _Of course_ , I do. But it’d break my heart to see any of you suffer for my benefit. This way’s better. I still have a shot at being healthy again without putting any of you at risk. I’m not sorry about it, so please don’t you be,” Steve insisted gently but firmly. “No more apologies. No more guilt, okay? There’s enough to deal with without all that baggage. Promise me.”

  
A simple promise was all Steve asked of him. It was the very least Mike could do, no matter how difficult or unnatural it seemed to cast aside any sense of responsibility, however unfounded. “I promise.”

  
Steve tried to pull back from the hug, but Mike held on tight. “Mike, my nose is still bleeding. I need another tissue. If you don’t let me get one, I’m gonna get blood all in your hair.”

  
“I don’t care. Just don’t let go, Steve.” The unintentional, duplicit meaning of Mike’s words were not lost on either of them. Mike not only meant don’t let go of _me_ , but don’t let go of _life_.

  
Steve managed to finagle the tissue box closer, snatching one out and stuffing it up his nose without releasing his one-armed hold on the younger teen. Mike had stretched himself out alongside Steve on the bed without untangling his arms from around his friend. It was an awkward position for both of them, made all the more awkward when his nurse entered with a wheelchair to inform him that they were ready for him in radiology.

  
For the first time in quite a while, Mike peeled himself off of Steve’s side to inquire, “What does she mean, ‘radiology’, Steve? What’s going on?”

  
“They want to put the feeding tube back in before it gets to a critical point like it did before. It – it really hasn’t been going so well, and it’s time,” Steve admitted somewhat shyly. “It won’t take too long if you wanna stay up here.”

  
“Can I go with you,” Mike spontaneously blurted out, his fears driving him to not let Steve out of his sight for the time being.

  
“I – I – I don’t know. I –,“ Steve stammered out and looked to the nurse, stunned by the sudden request.

  
“Well, if Steve here doesn’t mind and you promise to stay out of the way and leave the room during the x-rays, I can call down ahead. The doctor that’s down there usually doesn’t object to a family member present during certain procedures. Steve,” the nurse tilted her head in his direction, and he could only nod his assent.

  
“I – I promise,” Mike stuttered out before the nurse disappeared to make the call. When she came back to escort the pair downstairs, Mike instinctively grabbed onto Steve’s hand as he walked alongside the wheelchair and didn’t let go until Steve had to hop up on the table and position himself.

  
The gurney was bent at a ninety-degree angle to leave Steve sitting fully upright. Mike stood on the opposite side of the bed as the doctor and watched open-mouthed as the tube was measured out against the older teen’s cheek from nose to ear and then down to his stomach and marked accordingly. Steve was passed a styrofoam cup of ice water with a straw right before the end of the tube was drug through a clear, viscous jelly.

  
“I understand you’ve been through this before, Steven, so you remember to let me know when it’s at the back of your throat,” the radiologist confirmed as Steve nodded. “Good. Then let’s get started.”

  
The tube was inserted in his nostril leaving a slimy trail of gel behind it. It was less than a minute later before Steve choked out a, “Now,” as he softly gagged around the foreign object.

  
“Swallow the water. That’s it. Keep going,” the doctor instructed as he advanced the tube until the marking was just below the nostril. “What’s your name?”

  
“Steve Harrington.”

  
Mike was utterly confused at this exchange until the doctor patted Steve once on the shoulder and spoke, “Good. Doesn’t appear to be in the lungs, but let’s make sure.”

  
The radiologist connected a syringe to the end and pulled back until it filled up with green fluid that Mike found beyond disgusting. When he was sent out of the room for the x-ray to be performed, Mike was almost glad. He was quickly discovering, that although he had an affinity for science, medicine was clearly not the field for him. And the fact that Steve endured all of the horrors that these four walls and his own body could throw at him with hardly a complaint only depressed Mike further and reinforced his feelings of guilt despite the promise he had just made earlier to the infirm boy.

  
Since the procedure was a relatively simple one, Mike was entrusted with the duty of returning Steve to his room. His mind was spinning. Steve seemed fairly unharmed, but the sight of the tube taped to his cheek filled the younger boy with immeasurable sorrow. As Mike steered the wheelchair towards the bed, he couldn’t restrain his concerned curiosity, although he had some trepidation about the possible answers. “Are you okay? Did it hurt? Getting the tube in, I mean.”

  
“Aside from the fact that I hate being called ‘Steven’, I’m fine.” Steve transferred himself from the chair to the bed. “It’s definitely not pleasant, but not painful.”

  
“Good,” Mike said enormously lightened by that answer. He glanced at the clock and squirmed. “Could you maybe not mention – I don’t know if they’d understand. Could you just keep today to yourself?”

  
Steve wasn’t overly eager to share his personal thoughts on the whole situation, either. He held out his crooked pinky finger. “It stays just between us. Swear.”

  
Mike offered his own pinky finger and linked it with Steve’s just before the other five kids burst through the door. A look of understanding passed between them before the group predictably grilled Mike on his absence from last period. Before he had a chance to drum up a viable excuse, Dustin noticed the new accessory adorning Steve’s cheek, and that became the new focus of conversation.

  
With each day that elapsed, Steve gradually grew more unwell and even weaker than ever before. The spiral downwards was inescapable and hard to witness. The medication was so strong that simple tasks took monumental effort, and nothing offered him any respite from his misery. Some days, all any of them could do was hold his hand and sit helplessly by as he lay there grappling with whatever torturous hell his disease decided to force him to suffer in that particular moment.

  
The kids had minimized their collective group visits out of respect for Steve’s worsening state, not wanting to overstimulate him. Saturday had been the agreed upon day for all of them to gather as one, bringing with them board games and homework to work on so Steve didn’t have to feel obligated to keep them occupied and could concentrate on his own well-being.

  
Lately, Steve had many more bad days than good ones, and Saturday was definitely one of those days. He had developed a high fever overnight and wasn’t entirely lucid. The doctors were searching for the source, but had yet to discover it. Hopper had stayed at his bedside and maintained a vigilant eye, only tangentially aware of the other teenagers’ presence because his attention was trained elsewhere.

  
Steve’s throat gave an audible click as he swallowed dryly, licking his chapped lips in search of the moisture he was so sorely lacking.

  
“You want some water, kid? I got some right here if you do,” Hopper offered. Steve brushed his head back and forth against the pillows without opening his eyes. “Alright, how ‘bout a few ice chips? It might help with the thirst you’re feeling without affecting your stomach too much.”

  
Steve agreed to this and Hopper scooped a few pieces up with a cheap, plastic spoon that he raised to the boy’s mouth. At the touch, Steve parted his lips, but they were so parched that separating them proved difficult. Hopper slid the ice into the small opening. “So hot.” Steve’s words contradicted his actions as he released a violent shiver.

  
“I know, kid. You’ve got a pretty nasty fever.” Hopper’s eyes raked over the light sheet draped over Steve and the closed blinds. He checked the thermostat and regarded the cold rag that he’d been using to dab at the perspiration-laden skin. Steve had been changed into a hospital gown with the intention of cooling him off some, and also because he had sweated through all his clean clothes. Joyce had laundered them this morning before leaving for work, but despite their efforts, Steve’s sweltering state was unyielding. “I’m not sure there’s much else we can do until they figure out what’s causing it.”

  
“Well, there might be one more small thing. It won’t affect his temperature, but it might make him feel a little cooler. Especially with a cold rag against it.” Dustin maneuvered himself around the obstacles that the other kids and boardgame setup posed until he was next to the head of the bed. He extended his hand until it rested against the thin cotton stretched against his friend’s skull, seeking permission. “Can I, Steve?”

  
Steve stiffened, his initial reaction one of resistance. But Dustin was right, and he was so miserable that he cared less and less about keeping himself covered. At one time or another, they had all seen him now without his hair and he was beyond vanity at this point around those that knew him best and loved and accepted him in spite of everything. “Go ahead.”

  
The grin that spread over Dustin’s face could not be contained despite the circumstances. He was proud that he had come up with something that might help his friend and he was equally proud of Steve for agreeing to what he proposed. It seemed like such a small victory, but nowadays it was the little things one had to hold onto. The curly-haired boy gently removed the hat, grazing his fingertips along the smooth skin before reaching for the cool cloth. Hopper soaked it in ice water and squeezed it out before handing it to the younger teen to place against Steve’s forehead. They shared sad smiles before Hopper glanced over his shoulder and saw similar looks on all the kids’ faces. And if he wasn’t mistaken, tough-girl Max even had tears in her eyes. “There. Is that better, Steve?”

  
Steve cracked his eyes open. “A little. Thanks, man,” he said gratefully before letting his eyes fall lethargically shut again as he was overcome with fatigue, only distantly feeling Dustin’s palm resting against his forearm.

  
The room was quiet, but anything but peaceful. The air was heavy and stifling, and if Max didn’t get out of there right that second her breakdown would be imminent. She squeezed Lucas’s hand firmly and used every ounce of her will to keep her voice neutral. “I need a breather. I’ll be back.”

  
“Want some company,” Lucas asked, with a trace of desperation, as if he were experiencing similar emotions.

  
“Not this time. I just need a few minutes,” Max excused before she got up and left the room, leaving Lucas to look after her forlornly.

  
Max didn’t have a specific goal or destination in mind. She wondered the hall aimlessly just mulling over the whole situation. Sometimes she envied the others. Mrs. Byers and Hopper seemed to always know exactly what to do for Steve. Even Dustin was an endless well of possibilities when it came to easing Steve’s discomfort. But her? She had no clue and felt every bit of her short and inexperienced fourteen years.

  
Angry tears slid down her cheeks. Why couldn’t she think of something – _anything_ constructive instead of uselessly strolling around a hospital and blubbering like a little girl? Her eyes browsed over the informative posters that lined the white walls. Hand washing. Disease transmission. First Aid. Blood donation. Be the Match – the new program that Steve was enrolled in to find a donor.

  
Max stared at the poster, reading it as an idea formed in her brain. She made an impulsive decision and raced to the bank of payphones around the corner. She’d have to call collect which would piss him off, but at that moment she didn’t give a shit and rattled off the number to the operator. “Come on. Answer,” she urged as the ringing of the phone echoed back.

  
“You better have a damn good reason for calling me collect, shitbird. It’d better be an emergency. Somebody better be dying,” the voice on the other end barked out.

  
“Shut up, Billy. No one’s dying – yet.” She carried a hard edge to her tone, but on the last word her voice cracked, and she released all the emotions she had been tenuously holding onto and wailed. It was a strange combination of hiccups and sobs.

  
“What’s wrong? Tell me, Maxine,” Billy said sternly. “Where are you?”

  
“The – the hospital,” Max managed to get out, but just barely.

  
“What? Did Neil hurt you? Or Susan,” Billy’s panic came out disguised as anger.

  
“No. No, Neil didn’t do anything other than the usual. It’s Steve.” Max hesitated, suddenly not so sure contacting her step-brother was such a good idea. Steve and Billy had never been close, let alone friends. In fact, they were more in the neighborhood of mortal enemies. But what the hell? She was already on the phone, and at least she was doing _something_. “He relapsed. It’s worse than before. He’s been here for most of the last month, and – and he’s not doing well.”

  
“Well, that’s a shame,” Billy’s pitying words were in opposition to the sarcastic timbre they were delivered in. “Thanks for the update. Gotta go."

  
“Wait! Don’t hang up,” Max rushed out. “Steve needs a bone marrow transplant.”

  
“Yeah? And why should I care what Pretty Boy needs,” Billy was quickly growing bored of the conversation.

  
Max could feel her cheeks heating up until her face was on fire at Billy’s self-involved attitude. “Because he’s a _human being_ , you prick. One that never did _anything_ to you except get in the way of your fists after a run-in with Neil. He still gets really bad headaches because of it. He thinks we don’t know, but we do. You _owe_ him.”

  
“Well, if you think I want to apologize to Harrington just because he’s on his deathbed, I don’t. He wouldn’t accept it anyway. Would just assume it’s because he’s sick and I didn’t mean it, and he’d be right. So…” Billy said disinterestedly.

  
“Steve’s illness isn’t a _joke_ , Billy. Nothing about this is even remotely funny. This isn’t about an apology, anyway. I know that’s _beneath you_. Even if that’s the _very least_ Steve deserves. But there’s another way you can make it up to him. Without him ever having to know about it. Everyone knows you’re a dick, but you’re not a complete sociopath, and somewhere deep down in that black soul of yours, you know what you did was wrong and regret what you did to him while he was only trying to protect us. From _you_ ,” Max declared emphatically.

  
“And what makes you think I’d even want to help, huh? Why are you trying so hard if I’m such a lost cause,” Billy’s volume was rising, and Max knew she didn’t have much time left before his temper exploded.

  
“Because Steve _isn’t_ a lost cause. He’s a _good person_ and he doesn’t deserve all the shit he’s been through. He didn’t deserve to be beaten to a pulp because of your daddy issues. He doesn’t deserve all… _this_ ,” Max nearly shouted. “And he certainly doesn’t deserve the way he’s been _treated_ throughout his whole life – by you or his parents.”

  
“What do you mean, Max?”

  
“His parents are no better than ours,” Max blurted out, unthinkingly.

  
“They – they do to him what Neil – they touch him like that when he’s this sick,” Billy was taken aback and felt his first sliver of sympathy for the former classmate he thought had everything, silver spoon included.

  
“The opposite, actually. They’ve only seen him like three or four times since he was diagnosed. They give about as much as a shit about him as Neil does us. I don’t know why I’m telling you all this, but Hopper made him move in with the Byers so he’d have someone to look after him while he’s going through this because he tried to do it on his own the first time, and it was so hard on him, even with all of us there to help. Thank God he has adults in his life that _do_ care and wouldn’t let him do it completely on his own. And he has us kids, too.” Max paused to sniffle and scrub the wetness from her cheeks. “ _Please_ , Billy. He’s really, really sick. I don’t know how much longer he can hold on and he’s part of my _family_.”

  
Billy would be lying if he said that that last comment didn’t sting. The implication of Max’s words reignited the jealous fires of contempt he felt for the classmate who on the surface possessed everything he wanted, including people that really cared about him. “And I’m not?”

  
“You could be if you wanted, but you choose to be on your own,” Max stated matter-of-factly. “Stop punishing Steve for your own insecurities. You might be too afraid of loving and _being loved_ , but that doesn’t mean Steve is. We _love him_ and he _loves us_ , and yeah, it hurts because we don’t want him to _die_. At this point it’s a real possibility that we could lose him because Steve really needs the transplant, and no one here has matched. But anything worth something is worth the risk of being hurt. _Steve_ is worth the risk. It’s not too late for you to feel the same, Billy.”

  
Billy cleared his throat, softening a bit at Max’s insinuation of the possibility he could be something more than alone. “So, what is it exactly you’re asking me to do, Maxine?”

  
“There’s a national program now where you can get tested and see if you’re a match for someone from wherever you are. Please, Billy. Please get tested,” Max pleaded.

  
Silence stretched over the phone line. Just when Max thought she had breached Billy’s defenses, he re-erected the walls and stubbornly refused to change his ways. “So, what’s in it for me?”

  
“God, you’re such an asshole! I don’t know why I bothered. I should’ve known you were too selfish to help anyone but yourself,” Max spat out with venom, aghast at the depth of his egocentricity, although she really shouldn’t have been given his history. She knew how cruel and mean-spirited what she said next was going to be, but she was shaking with rage and couldn’t restrain herself from lashing out and inflicting the hurt she was feeling. She unloaded all the pent-up anger over that night before the tunnels, all the unfairness of her home life, and all the fears of potentially losing someone she deeply cared about. Not _all_ of it was Billy’s fault, but he did own _some_ of the responsibility, and she was determined to make him feel every bit of it. “You will _never_ be half the man Steve is. He’s warm and silly and protective and generous and _kind_. If you or I had given him even an inkling of what was happening with Neil, he would’ve gotten Hopper involved so fast, given both of us a place to stay, and…I don’t even know what. No questions asked without thinking twice about it. Because that’s what Steve _does_ , and _this_ is what you do! If the situation were reversed, he would do it in a heartbeat. But not you. No. You have to piss all over everything! And that is why I will go to my grave wishing that Steve was my brother, and _not you_.”

  
“You’re right,” Billy conceded, too shocked to do anything but agree.

  
“What,” Max’s tirade was brought to an unexpected screeching halt. Billy never admitted he was wrong, and someone else was…not.

  
“I said, you’re right,” Billy repeated, echoing sentiments that not only Neil had drilled into him, but what he had come to believe about himself. “I’m a piece of shit and I’ll never be Harrington.”

  
“I shouldn’t have said that.” Billy’s insults directed at himself made Max regret that she had unleashed on him, no matter how close to the truth it was, but she couldn’t take it back now. “You _could be_ , though. You’re away from Neil and he doesn’t dictate what you do anymore. You have the potential to be a good person, Billy, so why don’t you take it? It’s not too late to prove everyone wrong.”

  
Billy knew Max was baiting him and admired her a little for it. He never could back down from a challenge. “Just give me the information before I change my mind.” Max gave him every piece of information she knew, recalling some even from the poster. “You know, the chance of me matching him is almost nonexistent.”

  
“I know. But the fact that you’re doing it is enough. Any chance, however small, we can give Steve is a chance he didn’t have before. Thank you, Billy,” Max said with genuine gratitude.

  
“I never said I’d do it. I’ll think about it. The best I can do.” The sound of a lighter flicking to life came over the line. “Now, get off the phone. This is costing me money.”

  
“Sure,” Max agreed readily. “Goodbye.”

  
“And Max,” Billy added. “It stays between us. And I wouldn’t hate it if you called now and then and gave me an update on Pretty Boy.”

  
“Got it,” Max said, the smile creeping through in her voice. The call disconnected and she was left with a dial tone buzzing in her ear.

  
It wasn’t a guarantee by any means, but Max felt marginally better about things as she retraced her steps back to the hospital room. She hadn’t pulled any punches, but Billy didn’t respond to calm and gentle. It was like he didn’t know how. There was no way for her to know that the paper Billy had scribbled the information on would lay discarded in a pile on his end table, forgotten for quite some time, lost in the avalanche of insults she had thrown at him.

  
The Party, minus Hopper, was gathered in the waiting room around the corner from Steve’s room. Robin was with them now, too and Max wasn’t sure what it meant, but it likely wasn’t good. “Why are you all in here? What’s wrong?”

  
“Steve’s parents are here,” Lucas explained succinctly.

  
“Yeah, they showed up unannounced. While he was throwing up again, of all times. Their timing couldn’t be worse,” Dustin said bitterly. “He’s in no shape to deal with them. Hopper thought it would be better if we left the room which is total bullshit.”

  
“Hopper tried to get them to come back tomorrow, but they refused.” Will looked upset and worried, rightfully so. “Dustin’s right. Steve’s not up for this, but at least Hopper’s in there with him. He won’t let anything happen.”

  
“Maybe I should get you all home. Let them have some time alone,” Robin suggested, not privy to the details of the Harrington’s family dynamics.

  
“No! No way! I’m not going anywhere until they do, and I make sure Steve’s okay.” The determination was evident in Dustin’s tone, and he would not be persuaded otherwise.

  
Robin saw the futility of forcing the kids to leave. “Okay. So, we wait.”

  
Inside the room, there was no less strife. Hopper supported the teenager’s back and shoulders, the only thing keeping him somewhat vertical as he was bent over the fuscia-colored plastic bin, emptying any residual stomach contents into it yet again. His lips shone with spittle as more and more gastric juices were propelled outward, but with one alarming addition. “Blood,” Steve panted as the retches faded, his head too foggy to comprehend the source.

  
Hopper placed the tub to the side and eased Steve back onto the pile of pillows as his parents stood passively by, not even attempting to offer any assistance. The police chief balled up some tissues as a temporary cork to the red river gushing down the teenager’s face. “Yep. Looks like your nose is bleeding again. I’ll be right back.”

  
“No, Hopper. Don’t go.” Steve groped around frantically for the police chief until Hopper sat back on the side of the bed and captured his flapping hand in his own, not missing the wary sideways glances the teen was directing to the other occupants of the room.

  
“Your nose is turning into Old Faithful there, kid. I gotta get something to stop it and clean you up. I don’t think Kleenex’s gonna do it this time,” Hopper patted the hand now laying loosely in his sympathetically.

  
“Can’t they do anything for him.” Mrs. Harrington’s perfectly manicured nails rested against her rayon clad chest as she toyed with her gold necklace nervously, blind to the irony of her question as she was standing idly by and doing nothing for her son – not even so much as comforting him – herself.

  
“Yes. It seems that there should be more done for Steven than is currently being done. Perhaps he would be better off in a larger city hospital such as Indianapolis that is better equipped to deal with Steven’s issues. One with more advanced medicine and that spares no expense.” Mr. Harrington agreed with his wife, albeit more condescendingly.

  
Steve’s eyes widened in panic at the idea of being separated from the people he had come to depend on the most because of some misguided notion that his parents held that money could magically heal him. He opened his mouth, a vehement opposition at the ready, but was prevented from doing so by the blood collecting in his nasal passages and dripping down the back of his throat, spurring a coughing fit. He was quite literally choking on his own blood.

  
The police chief removed a pillow from the recliner and stuffed it behind Steve’s back to sit him further upright. “Lean forward, kid. It’ll help some. And let me go get something to stop it.”

  
The nosebleeds had never been this forceful or lasted this long before. Steve’s senses were beginning to short-circuit. The lights were too bright, but sounds were becoming tinny and distorted. He was cold, yet detached from his body at the same time. And all he could smell were pennies. That couldn’t be right. His head was woozy and stuffed with cotton, and he floated up, up, up, badly needing something or someone to ground him before he lost complete control. The mounting fear that radiated off of Steve was palpable and he called out desperately for the warmth and comforting presence he craved to combat the fright. “Where’s – where’s Mom?”

  
“I’m right here, sweetheart,” Mrs. Harrington said, bewildered at the question.

  
“No, not you. Don’t call me that.” Steve shook his head as if to clear it, just with it enough to be embarrassed by that slip of the tongue but not enough to be cognizant of the hurt that flashed in his mother’s eyes. “That’s what she – she…I meant – I meant Mrs. Byers. I meant Mrs. Byers, Hop.”

  
“I know ya did, kid. It’s okay. She’s at work, but she’s coming here right after,” Hopper soothed, trying to hide just how startling the boy’s increasing disorientation was. He pushed the call button for the nurse before turning to the Harringtons. “I told you it wasn’t a good time. Next time maybe you’ll give a damn and _listen_.”

  
“We just wanted to see Steven. Tell him how sorry we are that neither of us matched,” Mr. Harrington excused.

  
“I’m sure Steve’ll appreciate that more when he’s more up to it. Another time,” Hopper growled before grabbing the tub of vomit and shoving it more forcefully than necessary into the finely tailored, suit-covered torso of Mr. Harrington. “Here. Make yourself useful for a change and clean this up so Steve doesn’t have to stare at his own blood. And then get the hell out! Steve can’t do this right now.”

  
The nurse entered, not oblivious to the tension she walked into. “What’s going on? Oh my.” She ministered to Steve and made a few phone calls. Hopper planted himself back at Steve’s side, his intentions clear. The nurse did not fail to pick up on which people in the room were not welcome and tactfully said, “It’d be better for Steve if there weren’t as many people in the room. Could everyone besides Chief Hopper please leave or wait outside?”

  
Hopper couldn’t suppress the smug look that crossed his face as the Harringtons exited the room. Steve sagged in relief in response to their absence and the policeman’s attention was refocused back to the boy grappling with far too many stressors than he should have to handle at a time like this.

  
The Party observed the nurse passing through the door to Steve’s room, and his parents emerging shortly thereafter. But Hopper remained behind closed doors. The longer there was no word, the more worried Dustin became. “I’ve gotta go in there. Something’s wrong.”

  
“No, squirt,” Robin held him back with a hand to his shoulder. “Whatever’s going on, I’m sure Hopper’s got it handled.”

  
More medical personnel made their way into the room and it was harder and harder to physically restrain Dustin from fleeing to his friend’s side. Hopper appeared in the waiting room just in the nick of time, just before the teen staged a coup and barreled into the hospital room. “What’s wrong with Steve? Tell me.”

  
“The fever’s worse. Got a bad nosebleed, too. They had to cauterize it. Got him going on a stronger antibiotic now until they can figure it out.” Hopper sighed and scratched at his head. “Gonna give him some blood to replace all he’s lost. Platelets are really low. They think that’s maybe why he’s getting all these nosebleeds, so they’re gonna give him some of them, too. It’s going to be a long night.”

  
“Poor Steve,” Mike whispered.

  
“Yeah,” Hopper drug a weary hand down the scruff on his face. “He’s so worn out from…everything. Maybe you guys should just go home. Let him rest.”

  
“C’mon guys,” Robin corralled them.

  
“Just a minute,” Dustin delayed her. “I just want to say goodnight.”

  
Hopper shoved his hand into his pockets and regarded Dustin softly. “Kid, I know you wanna see him, but he’s in bad shape right now.”

  
Dustin cast his eyes downward sadly. “I know, but that’s exactly why I have to. I promised myself when Steve got sick this last time that I’d always say goodbye to him. Chief, I _need_ to say goodbye. It’s important. Please.”

  
“I don’t think he’s even awake-,“ Hopper stopped himself, perceiving the quietly earnest plea exposed in Dustin’s eyes. He gestured to the door. “Have at it.”

  
Dustin took a deep breath before slipping into the darkened room. Hopper had been right. Steve was sleeping – or at least, he hoped he was sleeping and not passed out. Bags of amber fluid were lined up on the pole next to the bags of chemo, waiting to be infused behind the one that was currently dripping at a heightened rate.

  
Taking a good, hard look at Steve always tugged at Dustin’s heartstrings these days. There was a faint trace of crusted blood ringing his nostrils and clinging to the feeding tube. The feverish flush on his cheeks contrasted harshly with his overall pallor. Purple shadows painted the sharpening depressions of his face. And he was so still. Motionless except the ragged breaths that wheezed in his lungs and sent his chest expanding far too shallowly and quickly.

  
Dustin approached the bed. He didn’t want to disturb him, but he risked taking his friend’s hand to let him know he was there. “I don’t want to wake you, but I just wanted to say goodnight. I don’t know if you can hear me, but…stay strong, buddy. Get some rest so you can fight off whatever this is, and I’ll be back tomorrow, okay?”

  
He could’ve imagined it, but Dustin swore he felt the faintest twitch of Steve’s fingers against his. It was such a small action, but it gave him the strength he needed to tear himself away from the bedside for the night.

  
Two more days passed before the source of the infection was isolated. The cycle of chemo had just finished mere hours before the cultures came back, revealing Steve’s port as the culprit. The only option was to remove it, so the very next morning he went into surgery and came out with stitches in his chest and a brand new PICC line in his other arm to be used as a temporary measure until the infection completely cleared out of his system and another port could be implanted.

  
The recovery was almost immediate, as within twenty-four hours the fever had nearly broken, and by the third day after surgery, had entirely vanished. The vast improvement shone in Steve’s bright and alert eyes. The only physical ramifications from this latest complication besides the surgery, was his swollen body and puffy face from all the fluids that had been pumped into him. It was uncomfortable and unpleasant to see, but the doctors assured him that it would go away quickly.

  
Any plans for chemo were also put on hold until the infection was eradicated and his white blood cells fully bounced back which was just fine with Steve. Even though the thought of being off it for any length of time gave him anxiety at this point, he was due for a bone marrow biopsy to determine how they would proceed anyway, and he could quite frankly use a break.

  
The biopsy was scheduled for later this afternoon. He’d be kept overnight and then get to go home to finish the IV antibiotics with assistance from a home health nurse. Technically, he could probably go home after the biopsy, but it took some time to have the equipment delivered and set up the treatment. Either way, Steve was excited to be able to sleep in his own bed for a change.

  
The elation of being discharged from the hospital almost overshadowed the apprehension of the biopsy he had come to dread. Almost. In the meantime, he had Dustin to prevent him from going too deep inside his head. The high school had some in-service day, giving the kids the day off and allowing his younger friend to keep him company until Mrs. Byers, his constant companion during this procedure, could get off work and get here.

  
“I’m telling you, man. I think I’ve finally worn my mom down. She’ll let me watch ‘A Nightmare on Elm Street’ if you watch it with me,” Dustin said proudly, pleased that months of badgering his mom over it had finally paid off.

  
“No!”

  
“C’mon, Steve! Everyone else has seen it,” Dustin begged.

  
“Oh, I’m sorry. Let me rephrase that. No _fucking_ way! It’ll scare the absolute _shit_ outta you, and then you and all the other dipshits won’t sleep for weeks,” Steve griped sternly.

  
“You’re such a buzzkill,” Dustin huffed, crossing his arms. “Halloween’s coming up and it’s the perfect time.”

  
“Take that back. I’m not a buzzkill. Just a guy who doesn’t want to be up all night with all you wussies for the next million years,” Steve argued. “Besides, haven’t we all had enough horror in our lives? We’ve seen enough scary shit to last us ten lifetimes.”

  
“Exactly my point! After all that real shit, this’ll be nothing.” Dustin knew he was wearing Steve down. He could tell by the way his friend’s features slackened as the tension left his face and he blinked in rapid succession. His mother had eventually caved, and Steve was likewise virtual putty in his hands. He just had to be patient.

  
“We’ll see,” Steve said noncommittally, and Dustin grinned at him like he had just won something.

  
Any further conversation was interrupted by the appearance of the oncologist trailed by two nurses, one wheeling a tray with instruments in front of her. “Well, hello young Mr. Harrington. Sorry to disturb you, but there’s been a slight change of plans. I’ve been called in to cover clinic this afternoon, so I’m afraid we need to do the biopsy now.”

  
Steve glanced at the clock and realized with a sinking feeling that neither Mrs. Byers nor Hopper would be available for several more hours. The thought of bearing it by himself terrified him, but that’s what he would have to do. There was no scenario on Earth where he’d willingly subject Dustin to the brutal procedure just for the sake of holding his hand when he was fully capable of stomaching it alone.

  
As if the younger teen were telepathically linked to him, Dustin immediately asserted his presence by firmly planting himself at the bedside and refusing to budge despite Steve’s insistence that he wait outside. “You shouldn’t see this. It’s…it’s a lot, okay? It’s _too much_ , and it’s bad enough to go through it myself, but I don’t want you to have to, too. _Please_ , Dustin.”

  
“And that’s _exactly_ why I’m _staying_ , Steve. Unless you’re prepared to jump off that bed and physically carry me kicking and screaming into the hallway, you’re just going to have to accept the fact that I’m not going anywhere. Don’t worry about me. I can take it. I’m not leaving you alone,” Dustin proclaimed doggedly.

  
Steve’s own obstinance was only outmatched by Dustin’s, and his resolve slowly crumbled. He _did want_ someone there, but there were certain aspects he was less than eager to expose the younger kids to. And this was one of them. But it was unavoidable if the determined expression on Dustin’s face was any indication. Steve came to the realization that he was fighting a losing battle. “Fine,” he surrendered. “But don’t look. Stay by my head. I’m _serious_ , Dusty. And if you need to leave the room…Just don’t look. _Promise_ me.”

  
“Don’t look at your ass. Got it,” Dustin attempted to inject some humor into the situation, but one glimpse of Steve’s grim countenance made him pull back. “I promise.”

  
The cold air collided with Steve’s lower back as his pants were lowered, causing an involuntary shiver to snake up his spine. The clinical application of the betadine sent him flinching in anticipation, his body reacting to the ghost memory of the pain inflicted on prior occasions that was forever imprinted and seared into his brain.

  
Steve’s sudden rigidity sparked a sinking feeling in Dustin’s stomach. The older teen had confronted unearthly threats without shying away, but the way he protectively curled into himself now caused regret to flare up briefly within Dustin. If Steve was this afraid, there must be a good reason. And maybe, just maybe he should’ve listened when Steve told him to leave the room. Dustin swiftly dismissed that thought because Steve needed him to be there whether he admitted it or not, and he wasn’t going to let him down. Digging deeper, he spoke with more courage than he felt. “Steve. Steve, look at me, okay?” Dustin waited until he had Steve’s full attention and grasped the older boy’s hands with his own. “Just squeeze if you need to.”

  
“I – I don’t want to hurt you,” Steve said timidly.

  
“You can’t hurt me. Less bones, remember,” Dustin assured him. “Give me your pain.”

  
“Distract me. We never talked about that girl you met. Tell me now,” Steve said without directly responding to Dustin’s quiet instructions. His voice was already wavering as the local anesthetic was injected, gearing up for the much larger needle.

  
Dustin tried very hard to ignore the two nurses holding Steve down, restraining him and securing his leg in place. “Her name is Suzie. She moved here from Utah. She’s like, super pretty.”

  
“Yeah? How pretty,” Steve grunted out, steeling himself for what was to come as the doctor’s fingers prodded at the bony prominences of his spine and pelvis.

  
“Like, so pretty. We’re talking smoking hot. Like, Phoebe Cates hot.” Dustin’s hands were registering the slightly increased pressure, but he didn’t let on and kept going. “And she’s like mega smart, too. Like Albert Einstein smart. I really wanted to ask her on a date, but Mom says I’m not allowed to date yet which is total bullshit. What does she think we’re gonna do, anyway? It’s probably for the best, though ‘cause I’d really want your help to pull it off and really impress her.”

  
“You don’t need my help, man. Just be yourself,” the tremulousness of Steve’s voice increased dramatically as the marking pen inked the correct spot. A verbal warning was the last thing he received before white hot pain exploded in his back and sent electric shocks shooting up his spine and down his legs. Steve involuntarily yelped before regaining some semblance of control over his vocal cords. “Keep talking. Please.”

  
Dustin struggled to avert his gaze, but could see the instrument being twisted sadistically into Steve’s hip in his peripheral vision. Steve clutched his hands so tightly that the bones Dustin did have in there were grinding together, but it was the sharp and sudden bit-back cries of pain that really hurt the younger boy the most. The sounds that were emitted from Steve’s throat were an amalgamation of gasps and shrieks, and the only thing that Dustin could do for him was to fulfill his request to jabber on. “Another reason we can’t date yet is Suzie’s Mormon. I don’t know much about it, but she’s not allowed yet either. But sneaking around might be kinda fun. Sorta romantic. Like Romeo and Juliet. Okay, bad example. But maybe you could help us out.”

  
The instrument was finally removed, and Dustin let his words die off as the procedure mercifully finished up. A bandage was slapped onto the offending area and Steve was repositioned on to his back and instructed to remain there for a few hours. He lay there limply, panting from the shock and exertion as fat tears rolled horizontally from his eyes, over his temple, and dripped onto the crisp white sheets. Steve had been right. Dustin was traumatized by the whole experience, but not nearly as much as his friend that had gone through this agony at least a dozen times by now.

  
Dustin pushed aside his own conflicting emotions to comfort his distressed friend. “It’s okay. It’s over now, Steve. It’s over. You can relax.”

  
Instead of heeding the younger boy’s sound advice, Steve shielded his face with his hands and seemed to grow more upset. He gave a frustrated, strangled sound. “Goddammit! I don’t know why I can’t stop. I’ve cried more in this past year that I have in my entire life put together. What the hell is wrong with me?”

  
“Gee, I don’t know. Maybe it’s the constant pain. Or the almost dying. Or all the sickness. Or fighting for your life. Or the surgeries. Infections. Being impaled with a needle multiple times. Pick one,” Dustin quipped sarcastically, but lovingly. “All that, plus I’m sure all the medication in your system has something to do with it. If all the research I did at the beginning was accurate, the chemo actually affects your brain, too. If it can affect recall and other processes, why couldn’t it affect your emotional centers?”

  
“Really,” Steve asked in disbelief at Dustin’s hypothesis, voice still thick with tears. “So, I’m not just, like a total wuss?”

  
“Hardly. Did you not just hear all the things I listed that you’ve gone through, or has your hearing been affected, too,” Dustin posed with mock exasperation.

  
Steve pushed out a breathy laugh, the trail of wetness still continuously flowing. “Look at me. I’m a blubbering mess – whatever the reason is - and you’re not running for the hills yet. You’re too good to me, Henderson. What would I ever do without you?”

  
“Good thing you’ll never have to find out.” _I just hope I’ll never have to find out what I would do without_ you, Dustin thought morbidly to himself. “You’re stuck with me. For life.”

  
“Good, because I wouldn’t want it any other way. I’m so glad you were here, but I’m sorry you had to see that,” Steve said between sniffles, still finding it necessary to apologize for something that was clearly out of his control. Too bad he couldn’t follow his own advice that he had offered Mike.

  
“Stop it, Steve. It’s fine,” Dustin lightly chastised as he leaned over and mopped up the stray tears with a tissue. “The part that _isn’t fine_ is you feeling bad about it. Don’t worry about me so much. You needed someone to be here. I was here. End of story. And I’d do it again in a heartbeat, so don’t sweat it.”

  
“I know you would, and it means a lot. Thank you.” Steve reached out and clasped the other boy’s wrist, momentarily stilling the hand that held the damp tissue. “Seriously. I mean it, Dusty. Thank you.”

  
Dustin’s smiling face came into Steve’s view, and he playfully smacked him on the cheek. “Anytime, buddy.”

  
Steve rolled his eyes to the ceiling, hoping he wouldn’t come to regret what he was about to say, but he figured there wasn’t much he was capable of doing in his current state to make the others happy. But there was one thing Dustin had requested that he could deliver on. “I guess, as long as all your parents are cool with it, I could maybe, possibly watch ‘A Nightmare on Elm Street’ with you.”

  
“Seriously?” Dustin’s smile grew even wider. “I knew it! I knew you’d be cool! You’re the best, Steve!”

  
“Yeah, yeah. We’ll see how you feel when you’re pissing your pants with fear in the middle of the night, lying awake in a pitch black room,” Steve scoffed.

  
“I’m not worried one little bit. You’ll protect us. You always do. From monsters both real and imaginary,” Dustin said confidently.

  
_The feeling is definitely mutual_ , Steve’s conscious mind responded silently as he waited for the pain to dull and sleep to claim him, his friend by his side through it all. He was sore. He was achy and tired. He was emotionally spent. But as Steve looked at the boy next to him, he was also so, so grateful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had some unexpected news this week. I apparently have acquired a new vision problem (two total, really). It's not a big deal, but it doesn't usually occur in someone so young unless it's congenital, or medication or trauma induced (so please excuse any typos). Yet another wonderful side effect I've picked up. You'll notice, I made a slight reference to Steve's vision in the fic. I have my checkup in less than two weeks and I'm confident everything's fine, but there's always some anxiety with it, regardless. Any good thoughts/vibes/prayers or whatever you're into is welcomed.


	14. If You Say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emotional conversations ensue as Steve deals not only with the physical ramifications of his illness and the decline of his health, but the psychological impact it has, as well. A fun night takes an unexpected turn and further complicates feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am completely floored that people still want to read this story. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart! Comments and constructive criticism are so welcome, so please don't hesitate to drop me a line. I appreciate and respond to all of it. No real TW I can think of except the usual side effects. As always, happy reading and I hope everyone is taking care of themselves out there!

The sunlight that filtered in from the floor-to-ceiling windows appeared deceptively warm and inviting. Although it brightened the otherwise drab room, giving it a cheerful illusion, the light carried no real strength or heat in its anemic rays. Outside, the air was frigid and the ground crunched underfoot, a casualty to an early frost. The leaves swirled in the blustering wind, only kept at bay by the glass barrier that rattled from the forceful gusts. The mounting dreariness of the weather was almost an eerily direct reflection of Steve’s sinking mood as of late.

  
Steve should have been nearly ecstatic to be here, no matter the atmosphere outside or within the walls. Being in this room again meant that the infection had retreated enough that his numbers had sufficiently recovered, and that he was doing well enough to receive outpatient treatment again. His head understood it was a good thing, he just wished his heart would get the message. Instead, it just filled him even more so with the same crushing despair he’d been unable to shake since he was discharged from the hospital.

  
The road to getting healthy was going to be arduously long. Steve knew that, but he had not recovered fully from the cycles he received in the hospital. Before, the break from the medicine had allowed him to regain some of his vigor and he was able to function semi-normally before diving back in headfirst. Now, between the higher doses and the infection, he was no better off than the day he left the hospital, and every single little thing seemed like a giant mountain to climb. Steve felt more and more utterly and hopelessly useless with each passing day.

  
Robin readily picked up on the melancholy air that enveloped her friend like a heavy cloak. It was unusual for Steve to be so…somber. Yeah, sometimes he was quieter if he was having a bad day. Or sometimes the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes if he was feeling especially sick, but something was off – had been off. This was different. She wriggled her fingers between the tubes to clutch at his wrist that lay slackly against the armrest. “Are you okay there, Steve?”

  
He lifted his head off the other arm that had been propping it up. “Hmm? Oh yeah. I’m good.”

  
“How come I don’t believe you?” Robin phrased it like a question, but it was more of a statement as she observed his downturned mouth and drooping posture. “It might help to talk about it, you know.”

  
“There’s nothing to talk about. I’m fine, so just drop it,” Steve practically snarled, but immediately clamped his mouth shut and dropped his eyes, ashamed of himself for just snapping at Robin. The worst part was he really didn’t know why. After that display, he owed her some form of explanation, but he wasn’t exactly sure what to tell her because he didn’t entirely know himself, so he settled on something generic. “I’m just in a funk right now, Rob. I’ll be alright.”

  
“Well, we’ve got time to de-funkify you, so give it up,” Robin pushed as she swept their location with her gaze, undeterred by her friend’s poorly hidden flash of irritation. “Is it this place? Because I gotta tell you, even with all the natural light, it’s enough to send anyone to funky town.”

  
Steve snorted at the girl’s colorful witticisms. “No. No, I’m used to it by now.”

  
“Now _that’s_ enough to bring me down.” Robin slid her hand upwards to Steve’s bicep, letting her fingers rest just above the PICC line as she jostled his arm lightly. “You shouldn’t have to get used to this.”

  
“What choice do I have,” Steve sighed, resigned. “Thanks for bringing me today, by the way. It was nice of you to give Hopper and Mrs. Byers a break from me, but I’m sure there’s like, a million other things you could be doing.”

  
“Don’t mention it,” Robin told him sincerely. “Besides, I like hanging out with you. Even if it’s in a place clearly as fabulous as this.” Robin said sarcastically as she used her finger to pluck at the tubing, rearranging it so it wasn’t dangling over the edge and pulling on his arm so much. “You’re pretty much a captive audience here, so no matter what I say, you’ll have to sit there and listen, right?”

  
Steve’s smile was soft in response to her teasing, but undercut with a hint of sadness. “Technically, I guess that’s true. Did I ever tell you about my first time here?” Robin shook her head, uncertain where this was going, but at least Steve was talking now. “I had the idea that I could drive myself. Hopper put the kibosh on that real quick. I was so mad at him for not letting me do certain things, but he was right, of course, like he always is. But I still fought him – fought everything. I was so determined to not let this take over my life. Even if it was a struggle sometimes, I still managed to get out and do some fun things with the kids.”

  
Steve paused, but Robin knew he hadn’t finished his thought, so she remained silent to encourage him to continue.

  
“This – this time around’s even harder than it was before, you know. I’d be fooling myself if I believed I could do the same thing again. Even simple things, like when we went for our midnight ice cream raid? It shouldn’t have affected me so much. I begged my body to cooperate, but it just _wouldn’t,_ and I could barely walk by the end. Again, Hopper was right. I _hated_ that he carried me, but what I hated even more was that I really _needed_ him to.” Steve fiddled with a loose thread on the quilt to evade the sympathetic glance that he knew was thrown his way by his confession. “The kids want me to tag along with them while they trick or treat. Their last big hoorah, they said. I _want to,_ but I just…I _can’t_. And it kills me to admit that.”

  
“They understand, Steve,” Robin said gently, running her palm up and down his upper arm in what she hoped was a comforting and reassuring gesture. She truly believed the kids were mature enough to differentiate between Steve’s willingness to do something and his ability, but her words sounded hollow and placating, even to her own ears. She searched her brain for anything she could say or do to stop him from being so hard on himself for something so out of his control.

  
“But that’s just it. They shouldn’t _have to_ understand. Any of this.” Steve rubbed agitatedly at his face as if he could physically scrub away the frustration he was feeling. “They say they’re okay with it, and I know they mean it, but I can tell that I’m still disappointing them.”

  
“Hey. Hey! No one’s disappointing anyone, here, alright,” Robin said forcefully. “Who was it that sent me to the video store _a week ago_ to _purchase_ the movie they want to see, _knowing_ it would be impossible to find for Halloween? The same guy who’s going to watch it with them and be up all night while they stuff their pubescent faces full of Halloween candy and get the living shit scared out of them, that’s who. And boy, am I sorry I’m going to miss that, believe me. Besides, who knows? Maybe we could find a way that you can make a cameo appearance during the kids’ quest for candy.”

  
“That’s a nice thought, Rob, but sometimes it takes me a full _ten minutes_ to get up enough energy to make it from the bedroom to the kitchen. There’s _no way_ I’m going to be able to roam the neighborhoods on my feet for two hours, or even part of the time,” Steve stated morosely.

  
“Maybe we just have to get more creative about it. I could drive you around in my car. Or…I know,” Robin nearly jumped out of her seat in her excitement. “We could ‘borrow’ a wheelchair from here, and I could totally dress up as a mad doctor and cart you around as my unwitting victim.”

  
Steve chuckled despite himself. “Like I said, a nice thought. My embarrassment at being lugged around like an old man aside, there’s still another problem, though. I’ll be connected to machines that don’t exactly travel easily. I can adjust the feeding times, but the antibiotic not so much. At least that part’s almost over.”

  
“Okay, I see your point now.” Prior to this, Robin had predominately spent time around a healthy Steve, and even when she hadn’t, he’d been in the hospital, a completely different universe where not much was expected of him except to get better – least of all by himself. Out here, there were constant reminders that life marched forward, whether he could participate or not, bound by not only his physical constraints, but the extraordinary amount of time he had to carve out just to keep surviving – like the half a day each week he would spend in this room. It was humbling and Robin understood a little more the reason behind his despondency. She couldn’t offer any viable solution, only her unwavering support. She guessed that sometimes there was nothing to be done for someone other than standing by them, and this was one of those times. Robin interlocked her fingers with his to symbolically convey that. “I’m really sorry that things aren’t different for you, Steve.”

  
“Thanks. Me too.” He gave her a wan smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

  
They spent the rest of the chemo session in silence – Steve trying to rest and get comfortable on an impossibly uncomfortable fake leather chair as the nausea set in, and Robin steadily observing every shift and every grimace while reminding herself to breathe through every painful contraction of her heart because Steve needed her to be there and not fall apart.

  
Robin succeeded in holding it together and getting her friend home without too much incident, save for the one time she had to pull over sharply so he could vomit. She helped him in the door and offered to stay by his side. He only said, “I’m feeling pretty sick, Rob. I think – I think I just need to go lie down by myself for awhile,” giving her that same sad smile as he clutched his stomach before turning around and shuffling down the hall. Robin was smart enough to realize that although Steve _was_ ill from the chemo, it was so much more involved than mere physical complaints. There was an awful lot he had to deal with that she couldn’t necessarily help with. All Robin could do was remind Steve that she was here for him if he needed her.

  
Steve spent most of the next two days in bed, only marginally better by Halloween night, but also lacking any real desire to get up. Joyce perched herself on the edge of his bed and brushed the back of her fingers across his overly defined cheekbone. “Are you sure you don’t want to postpone movie night until you feel better?”

  
“I’m sure.”

  
“Alright. I’ll be just across the hall if you need anything,” Joyce said doubtfully. “Are you ready to get connected?”

  
It wasn’t very practical for a nurse to come out four times a day just to hook him up to an IV, so Joyce had been taught how to do it. Half the time, it was easier just to stay attached to it if he wasn’t leaving the house. Steve would have been capable of doing it himself, but it really took two hands and he couldn’t bend his arm enough to use the hand on the arm that the PICC line was inserted in.

  
“Yeah. Guess I’d better go to the bathroom first, huh?” Not that he couldn’t take the pole across the hall with him if necessary. It was just difficult to maneuver on carpet. Steve fought against gravity to heave himself into a standing position, going slowly to lessen the lightheadedness that he’d been experiencing lately that was apparently a byproduct of the anemia, and not the lack of food, this time around.

  
When Steve returned, Joyce had already donned a mask and gloves. They were slightly oversized on her petite frame and gave the impression of someone who was attending a costume party rather than one that was acting as a caretaker. “I bet I look pretty ridiculous in this getup. I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t go to nursing school, after all.”

  
“I never knew that,” Steve said quietly as he raised his arm in reaction to her gentle prodding. He watched as she swiped the alcohol swab adeptly across the ends on the tubing. Her unfulfilled career choice was perfectly in line with her caring nature and nurturing presence. “No wonder you’re so good with this. With me. How come you never did?”

  
“Oh, you know, life had other plans. But I wouldn’t trade Jonathan and Will for the world. Being a mom is such a privilege. I just can’t imagine feeling any other way.” Steve admired how her whole face lit up whenever she talked about her boys and knew she genuinely meant it, but not every woman was as wonderful as Joyce Byers. Joyce simply could not fathom a mother that didn’t love unconditionally, but Steve could, and his face must have reflected that. “Oh, honey. I’m so sorry. That was – that was insensitive.”

  
“No, it’s okay,” Steve assured her. “I’ve been used to it for a long time now. Besides, you can’t miss what you never had, right?”

  
Joyce quickly finished hooking Steve up to the IV and peeled off her gloves so she could cup his face with her small, but sure hands. “Sweetheart, look at me. I hope you know that you _do_ have that now if you want it. From me.”

  
It had taken some time to get that through his head and even longer to believe it, but Steve _did_ know that deep down. He yearned for the maternal warmth she offered so much so that he practically _ached_ from it, but his conscience prevented him from fully reveling in it. That little voice inside screamed out that he wasn’t worthy. His own mother didn’t even think so. And the woman that thought he was deserving, thought so without knowing the vile and disgusting things he had said about her that he never fully confronted. This internal debate, fueled by guilt, raged on and was visibly written into the pinched lines of his face. It was about time Steve unburdened himself and righted this wrong. “You’ve never been anything but kind to me, and I don’t get it. I’ve said _horrible_ things that I’ve never apologized to you for.”

  
“If you’re referring to the fight you had with Jonathan, I’d hardly put any stock into what two boys said while throwing punches at each other years ago.” Joyce gave him a knowing look. “And you _have_ apologized a million times over without even realizing it. Maybe not directly with words, but with everything you’ve _done_ and with _who you really are_. You’re not the same person you pretended to be. None of us are.”

  
“Still. I’m – “

  
“Steve,” Joyce cut him off. “Please stop torturing yourself over something that doesn’t even _matter_. Jonathan and Will are great kids, but they’re not perfect rays of sunshine all the time, either. They can be nasty, too. It’s kinda what kids do, and I hope you know I consider you one of my kids now, too. And as a mom, it’s my job to love you all no matter what – moody teenage temper tantrums and all.”

  
Steve swallowed thickly around the lump in his throat. Even after all this time around Mrs. Byers and Hopper, it was still a relatively foreign concept for him to comprehend – an adult that accepted him, mistakes and blemishes and all, without the need for a constant waterfall of apologies cascading from his lips to earn his right for affection. She just bestowed it upon him freely, with no strings attached.

  
Joyce let her thumb migrate up to Steve’s forehead to smooth out the frown lines forming there. “Honey, Hopper mentioned what happened in the hospital with your parents. You have every right to feel the way you do. To be conflicted and confused.” Steve’s cheeks grew pink, remembering that he cried out for her - and specifically what he had called her - in his disorientation, and praying that the policeman had left that part out. Apparently, he hadn’t. “Nononono. Don’t get upset. I don’t want you to be embarrassed. I already told you that I think of you like a son, and it gave my heart so much joy to know that maybe, even subconsciously, you feel the same way. That is way better than any old apology. And sweetheart? I just want you to know that I’m completely okay with whatever you’re comfortable calling me.”

  
Steve was utterly dumbfounded and rendered speechless. He wasn’t expecting that at all, and it wasn’t that he _didn’t_ want to address her in such fashion. In fact, he probably wanted to just a _little too much_ , but he couldn’t help but be guarded when it came to parental-type relationships. It was an incredibly poignant sentiment, but the woman he _had_ spent nineteen years calling 'mother' disregarded all the duties and promises attached to that label. For her it was just that – a title. Intellectually, Steve knew that Joyce was different – it wasn’t just in name only, but who she _was_. But he didn’t know if he would ever get past the heartache of his entire childhood enough to fully believe that that type of bond was possible for him with anyone, even the very embodiment of motherhood herself, Joyce Byers.

  
Joyce sensed and understood his hesitation. It would take a long time and quite a bit of patience to undo the damage that had been done over a lifetime. And the truth was, that Steve may never get to that place of security that he deserved. It didn’t mean she would stop trying, though. Joyce let her hand drift from his forehead to the top of his head, using her thumb to sweep long, relaxing strokes against his scalp. It was a calming gesture she had recently adopted to ease the tension when he had had a particularly bad day or a really intense headache that had been plaguing him as of late. “It’s okay, sweetie…”

  
Steve nearly purred at the soothing touch until he was hit with the sudden realization that there was no layer of cloth separating the pad of her thumb from his bare skin. He had neglected to replace the hat on his head when she came into the room, and it hadn’t even occurred to him until then. Joyce had created a cocoon, constructed of her steady acceptance and love that buffered him from the outside world and his own insecurities. She repeatedly boosted his confidence with everything she said and did, and some small part of him must have begun to believe her encouraging words because his usual awkwardness and self-consciousness were only distant echoes of their previous selves. Steve came to the conclusion that it was a little ridiculous that he still referred to her as ‘Mrs. Byers’ when he was now living in her house and was clearly comfortable enough around her to expose all his flaws and ugliness without giving it a second thought. Perhaps, a good first step would be to trade formality for something a little more familiar. “You’ve – you’ve been telling me since the beginning to call you ‘Joyce’, but it kinda felt weird. Maybe now I could start…Would you – would you mind?”

  
“Not in the least,” Joyce smiled warmly and pressed her lips next to the invisible arc her thumb had been tracing. The fatigue that was Steve’s constant companion clung to him with more ferocity, and quickly became more apparent to her. “Why don’t you lie back down and get some rest while you can? The kids will be home before too long.”

  
Wordlessly agreeing to her sound suggestion, Steve swung his legs up onto the bed and leaned back against the pillows. Joyce rose from the edge of the bed and he allowed her to spread the covers over his prone form, keeping his right arm free so the tubing wouldn’t get tangled in the sheets. So, this is what it felt like to be tucked in at night by a parent, warm and safe and secure.

  
Joyce gave him one more light caress of his cheek before letting her hand come to rest on his forearm. “Would you like me to set up the feeding so you don’t have to? So you can rest a bit more?”

  
“No, that’s alright,” he gently refused her. “You’ve done more than enough. All the stuff is right here, and if I’m really not up to it, Dustin knows how to do it.”

  
“Alright, if you’re sure,” Joyce gave him a considering look. “Remember, I’m just right across the hall if it gets to be too much.”

  
“I know.” Steve hoped the gratitude he felt was obvious on his face, but he made a point of saying it, also. “Thank you…Joyce.”

  
“You’re welcome. Goodnight, sweetheart,” she said before clicking the door shut.

  
A quick nap was all Steve was able to grab before the kids came barreling into the house, barging into his room without preamble and startling him awake. Dustin couldn’t even wait for him to fully focus before excitedly inquiring after what he had been obsessed with over the past few weeks. “Can we watch it now? Can we, Steve?”

  
“Settle down, Henderson. Everyone go get cleaned up first and set up your sleeping bags, and then you can pop the movie in.” Steve waved vaguely at the TV and VCR on the stand that he had snagged from one of his parents’ guestrooms that they would never know was missing. He got more use out of it anyway since he couldn’t do too much lately other than sit around. “And don’t even think of touching that candy until I’ve had a chance to inspect it.”

  
“Jesus, you’re worse than my mom,” Mike complained, but the corner of his mouth was upturned with a smirk.

  
The kids handed off their spoils to Steve and complied with his instructions in record time. He returned their bags one by one as they reentered the bedroom before they claimed their individual spots on the floor and dug in to their sweet treats with enthusiasm.

  
“You want something, Steve? I’ll even share my Three Musketeers,” Dustin held out the white-wrappered candy.

  
“No thanks, man.” The concept of food of any type reignited the nausea that had retreated a bit since this morning, but it reminded him of what had yet to be done. Steve flicked his eyes towards the pile of supplies beside him. “I probably should get this going before we start the movie, though.”

  
Dustin weaved his way around legs, sleeping bags, and mounds of candy. “Here. I’ll get it so you don’t have to get up.”

  
The younger boy was so accustomed to the necessary steps now that he completed the whole process swiftly. As Dustin fastened the two ends of the tubes together, Steve loosely gripped his wrist in an expression of his thanks and received a sunny grin in response.

  
Lucas stood by the light switch, anxiously awaiting the signal to flip it off. El approached the bed, intensely staring Steve down until he scooted over and patted the empty space beside him. She snuggled contentedly into his side. Mike and Will huddled together, and once the lights were off, Lucas sat next to Max so they could share a blanket. There wasn’t enough room on Steve’s other side with all the tubes, but Dustin would be damned if he was going to be left out and squeezed himself onto the foot of the bed, laying perpendicular to Steve’s feet.

  
The position wound up delighting Steve to no end because he was able to toy with Dustin throughout the movie, poking the curly-haired boy’s side with his foot at particularly jumpy moments. The younger teen angrily slapped at the elder’s legs each time, growing increasingly irritated until at one point he colorfully threatened to remove the cassette tape from the machine and place it none-so-gently into a certain part of Steve’s anatomy. This elicited peals of laughter from the potential receiver of said act until Max silenced them both. “Would you two stop it, already? We’re trying to watch a movie here!”

  
By the time the blond, pigtailed girls were jumping rope to a haunting nursery rhyme and the end credits rolled, the entire group of kids sat slack jawed, mouths agape and slightly shell -shocked from the experience.

  
“Well, that settles it. I’m never sleeping again,” Lucas declared.

  
Max shoved his arm. “Oh, grow up! It’s just a movie, Stalker.”

  
This led to a ten-minute discussion over which was scarier: the Upside Down or Freddy Kreuger. A few of the kids voted for Freddy because the argument was that one could technically avoid the Upside Down, but everyone had to sleep eventually and that was psychologically more terrifying. The whole dispute was absurd to Steve because one really happened whereas the latter was make-believe. Steve ended their back-and-forth with the strong suggestion they all go to bed.

  
El comically widened her eyes and shook her head before burying her face in Steve’s shoulder. Dustin just looked at him like he had grown an extra head. “Are you high on painkillers right now? Seriously, dude.”

  
“Can you just try?” Steve was on the verge of whining. It was closing in on midnight and the earlier nap had done little for him. “Please? I’m like, so, so tired.”

  
It might have been a little unfair of him to bring to light his physical condition to persuade the kids to do his bidding, but that didn’t make it any less true. And as predicted, their objections vanished when they each glanced at the older boy and registered the exhausted glaze to his eyes.

  
They burrowed into their sleeping bags strewn about the floor without further protest and diligently shut their eyes in a valiant attempt to fall into dreamland, but every creak and moan of the house settling or the constant whirring and ticking of the equipment chained to Steve’s side sent them flying back open again.

  
A metallic _thunk_ resounded and Lucas nervously asked, “What was that?”

  
“Relax, Sinclair. I just rolled over and hit the IV pole,” Steve mumbled into his pillow, sleep eluding him despite his overwhelming weariness as a result of the constant undercurrent of tension and overactive imaginations populating the room. He willed himself to nod off to no avail. Steve groaned inwardly before deciding that as long as he was awake, he may as well enjoy himself. “One, two, Freddy’s coming for you,” he sing-songed.

  
“Shut up, Steve,” Mike hissed crankily.

  
“Three, four, better lock your door.”

  
“Shut _up_ , Steve,” Mike reiterated, stuffing a pillow over his head to drown out the eerie rhyme.

  
“Five, six, grab your crucifix.”

  
 _“Steve,_ ” five voices chorused. Max had been the only voice not joining in, giggling too much at Steve’s antics.

  
“Hey! If you shitheads insist on keeping me up all night, at least let me have some fun.” This earned him five sets of glares that weren’t hard to distinguish, even in the meager glow of the desk lamp left on to keep the nightmares at bay. “Fine! Killjoys! Just put on one of your nerd movies to distract you or something so I can get the hell to bed. Some of us aren’t riding a sugar high and still need to sleep.”

  
Eventually, the ploy worked as one by one, the kids surrendered to their body’s need for rest, and Steve prepared to finally drift off himself. A muted rustling reluctantly pried his eyes back open and he gave Max an annoyed and quizzical look as she tiptoed and weaved across the bedroom floor. Steve’s words died in his throat as Max placed a finger to her lips.

  
The red head returned a few minutes later with her hand tucked sneakily behind her back. She once again pressed a finger to her lips and revealed what was hidden behind her. Four butter knives were fanned out in her fist. Max arranged them to be lined up with her fingers. Being the only adult in the room, Steve was sure he should put a stop to what was about to transpire, but he was morbidly curious to see what happened.

  
Max drug them across any metallic surface she could find, deciding the IV pole best served her purpose. She imitated the sound effects from the movie until her friends began stirring in response to the unknown stimuli as Steve looked on amused. She slowly approached her boyfriend with careful steps, whispering the nursery rhyme just loud enough for Steve to make out. When she reached her target, Max bent down and lightly skimmed the knives over the back of Lucas’ pajama top.

  
The ear-piercing shriek that Lucas emitted seemed to come from all the way down in his toes and was in a similar octave range to that of a five-year-old girl. As the decibel level increased, chaos erupted in the room and everyone shot out of their respective beds – including Steve in an effort to restore calm.

  
Joyce burst into the room, disheveled and panic-stricken at the screams of children. “Is everyone okay? What’s going on?”

  
“It’s Freddy! Freddy was here,” Lucas cried hysterically which renewed the group’s frenzy as they all, save Max, attempted to crowd around Steve for protection.

  
“What,” Joyce was confused.

  
“Guys. Guys! It was just a trick. You’re fine,” Steve explained to five dumbstruck faces that were clearly not comprehending in their frantic state.

  
Max guiltily showed them the four butter knives that she had used as the tools for her trick which the rest of the group instinctively flinched and wildly backed further away from, sending them colliding with Steve who was trapped between the five kids and the medical equipment. Steve stumbled as his foot caught the base of the pole and he felt himself falling. He vaguely registered sets of arms reaching out for him as he windmilled his own to stop his downward momentum and possibly grab onto something to prevent his descent, but it all happened too fast. The corner of the dresser dug painfully into his back as he landed with a _thump_.

  
“That’s it! Everyone on this side of the room. Now!” The kids had, of course, witnessed Joyce’s intense anger, but it had never been directed at _them_ before. Once they were crowded by the doorway, Joyce’s voice immediately changed as she approached Steve, and she spoke in hushed tones. “Do you think you can get up, sweetheart? Let me check the damage?”

  
The initial contact had stolen the air from his lungs in surprise. Steve still hadn’t fully recovered his voice, but he nodded and allowed Joyce to take his hand. He rose stiffly and sat on the edge of the bed. The cool air hit his back as Joyce raised his shirt to examine him.

  
From their viewpoint, the group could see an angry red welt down the center of Steve’s spine that was surrounded by quickly forming black and blue marks. The swelling was already visible and spreading, and its presence immediately elicited profuse apologies from each member of The Party.

  
“I’m sure it looks worse than it is. I’m fine. Really,” Steve assured them as Joyce left briefly to retrieve an ice pack. She wrapped an ace bandage around his torso to keep it in place.

  
After checking him over one last time, Joyce made Steve lay on his side to keep pressure off his back. “As for the rest of you…grab your stuff and move to the living room. I think Steve’s had enough for one night. And we are going to have a serious talk about this once you wake up.”

  
“It’s not their fault. It’s mine. I saw what was happening and chose not to stop it,” Steve excused as the kids gathered up their pillows and sleeping bags, leaving the room dejectedly and not speaking until they were well out of ear-shot.

  
“It’s not his fault. My Mom knows that. So, why would Steve even try to take the blame,” Will asked as he spread out his bedding.

  
“Because he doesn’t want us to get in trouble. Figures. Steve gets hurt because of us – again. In this house, no less. Yet he still tries to cover for us even though it’s not remotely his doing, and Mrs. Byers could obviously see that it wasn’t from a mile away.” Dustin was clearly disgusted by not only the others, but himself as well. After all, watching that particular movie had been his idea. None of this would’ve happened if he hadn’t wanted to see it so badly in the first place and convinced Steve to help him out.

  
“Yeah, it’s not his fault. It’s Max’s,” Mike accused.

  
“Not helpful, dude.” Even though he was technically the victim of the prank and could’ve easily sided with Mike as a matter of pride, Lucas maintained his rational mindset.

  
“He’s right, Lucas,” Max admitted despondently. Normally she would get defensive – especially over anything Mike said against her, but the fire had gone right out of her, extinguished by her hand in the whole mess.

  
There was no adequate response to Max’s comment that wouldn’t result in a fight of some kind so, no one spoke further. They all laid there silently, not a single one of them able to sleep. However, this time it wasn’t their overactive imaginations conjuring up visions of a pretend movie monster hunting them down in their elusive dreams, but a very real and tangible concern for their friend that invaded their waking thoughts and fed their insomnia.

  
Dawn was breaking when Mrs. Byers entered the living room to check on them. When she was met with six pairs of wide-awake eyes staring back at her, she sighed and settled herself on the couch in front of them. “Steve’s okay. He’s sleeping,” Joyce answered their unasked question. “Look, I’m sorry I yelled. Seeing Steve on the floor really scared me.”

  
“Us too,” Dustin confessed quietly.

  
“It scared me for many reasons. I know you guys weren’t aware of this because he wanted to keep it quiet,” Joyce began reluctantly, not wanting to betray Steve’s trust, but knowing it was unavoidable. “Steve’s had to have fairly frequent transfusions since he got out of the hospital this last time to keep his blood counts up and try to prevent him from spontaneously bleeding. Like with the nosebleeds.”

  
“But why? Why would he not tell us something important like that, Mom,” Will woefully beseeched. “We know he’s had to have some in the hospital, so why would he feel the need to keep something like this from us, unless…unless it’s something really serious?”

  
“Oh honey,” Joyce clasped onto Will’s smaller hand and smiled sweetly at her youngest son. “He just didn’t want to give you something else to be concerned over. That’s all. It’s not really all that unexpected with his disease and the treatment, especially as strong as the chemo is now. The doctors are closely monitoring him and staying on top of it.”

  
“If it’s so ‘normal’,” Mike made air quotes, “and it’s being taken care of, then why not just tell us?”

  
“Like I said, anemia and low platelets are pretty common with leukemia and the chemo and he has had it to some degree before, but it’s gotten worse this time around. He was afraid that you knowing that would scare you unnecessarily. Steve just didn’t want you to worry,” Joyce told them.

  
“Well, he’s a dumbass because we’re going to do that anyway,” Dustin said bluntly. “Besides, if he didn’t want us to know, why tell us now?”

  
“To explain a little why I freaked out so much, I guess. And to ask you to please, please be more careful around Steve. I’m really going to have to keep a close eye on his back. Even a small bump like that could cause bigger problems.” Joyce was unsure how much of the truth, and her fears that went along with it, she wished to divulge, but then decided these kids were smart and could connect the dots eventually whether she helped them along or not. “If he had fallen the wrong way and hit his head…”

  
“Then if it gets bad enough, he could theoretically bleed into his brain if he smacks it too hard or something, couldn’t he,” Dustin finished for her and she nodded hesitantly. “Sonofabitch! He should’ve said something. Steve, you’re an idiot.”

  
The subject of his admonitions came limping unsteadily down the hall. “I just got up, Henderson. What could I have possibly done already?”

  
Joyce rushed to his side to safeguard him from another fall. “Honey, what are you doing up? You shouldn’t be out of bed.”

  
Steve tried to wave her away as he blinked sleepily. “I had to disconnect myself. And I think the ice is now liquid. I was going to put it back in the freezer and get another one.”

  
“Well, as long as you’re up, let me take a look at it. Here,” Joyce ushered him closer to the kitchen counter so he could lean on it for balance while she hitched up his shirt and unwound the bandage.

  
When the last layer was peeled away, sharp gasps unwittingly escaped and resounded throughout the room. The bruise had doubled in surface area in just a couple hours, taking up nearly half his lean back, and the swelling from the blood pooling beneath the skin had dramatically increased. Max burst into the loudest tears she had ever spilled. “This is all my fault. I’m so sorry.”

  
Steve spun himself around and batted Joyce’s steadying hands away, laser- focused on Max and her uncharacteristic emotional outburst. “Hey. Hey, it’s okay. It was an accident. It wasn’t anybody’s fault. And I’m okay. See?” His reassurances would have been more convincing if he weren’t trying to disguise a prominent limp as he walked towards her.

  
The older teen held his arms out to offer comfort to her and give her affirmation that although he wasn’t entirely unscathed, he was still relatively fine, but she consciously withdrew back from his reach. “You shouldn’t come near me. I’ve done enough damage.”

  
“Max, c’mon. I won’t break, I promise. I’m tougher than I look,” Steve tried for humor, and when that failed, he traded his joking façade for something more sincere. “You can’t hurt me.” The girl stubbornly wouldn’t budge as he let his arms flop uselessly back to his sides, suddenly realizing that that wasn’t true at all. Her refusal to get near him and the way the other kids stared at him with expressions that were a little too apologetic and just a little too close to frightened pity – even Dustin – hurt him way worse than any physical wound ever could.

  
Feeling defeated and isolated, Steve slunk off to the solitude of his room. Joyce hurried after him to replace the ice pack and to try to smooth things over, but Steve was too heartbroken to be rescued from the pool of despair he was drowning in. Everything he had fought so hard against and tried to prevent since his initial diagnosis was nightmarishly unfolding before his very eyes. His illness was not just consuming every aspect of his life, but everyone’s lives around him and influencing their behavior towards him. It had inevitably infected the lens through which they viewed him, their fear for his well-being fundamentally changing their perception of him and how they treated him. And Steve was devastated. He was no longer just their friend Steve, who happens to have a life-threatening disease, but _the diseased_. A fragile thing to be handled delicately and with care, lavished with pity instead of love, and kept at arm’s length and tucked away for safety as if he were a dirty little secret instead a person. And that epiphany sent him into a free falling, downward tailspin.

  
Robin had witnessed Steve sink into a deeper depression than she had ever seen before over the next week, and the kids weren’t faring much better. Dustin and Will were the only ones who had even seen Steve, and that was only partially because the latter lived with the older teen now. Dustin was the only one who truly made the effort, but even those encounters were strained and awkward as Steve got sicker and subsequently fell into an even deeper spiral. She had tried to talk some sense into all parties involved, but her words fell on deaf ears. And any energy Steve may have put into chasing after the kids before falling ill, was now spent on recovering from his treatments, draining him completely until he had nothing left to give. It was all so heartbreaking and unnecessary and finally, the following Monday, Robin had had enough of all their moping and she picked the kids up from school, bypassing all their houses for one singular destination.

  
“Hey Robin. You missed the turn,” Dustin pointed out in what he thought was a helpful manner.

  
“No, I didn’t. Steve’s having surgery tomorrow and we are going to go visit him,” Robin informed her younger charges.

  
“What do you mean ‘surgery’,” Mike enunciated the word slowly, rolling it around in his mouth as if it was foreign to his vernacular.

  
“Is it his back? Is he okay?” Max still carried an enormous amount of guilt on her shoulders like a lead weight for the whole incident.

  
“No, it’s not his back. And for a bunch of nerds, you’re not very smart sometimes,” Robin told them matter-of-factly. “It has nothing to do with why he’s having surgery, but no, he’s not okay. He’s not okay at all. He got injured and you all basically abandoned him like he was the one in the wrong instead of the one that got hurt.”

  
“But that’s exactly it,” Lucas exclaimed. “We didn’t abandon him; we’re just staying away so we don’t do any more damage to him. Steve’s sick enough as it is without us adding to his problems. He has enough to deal with.”

  
“You’re right. He does,” Robin agreed. “But what you are all too blind to see is that you’re hurting him way worse by taking away something very important to him – your friendship. He thinks he did something to drive you away. Even though _you_ know and _I_ know that couldn’t be further from the truth, _he_ doesn’t know that and it’s destroying him.”

  
“Whoa, wait! Who said anything about taking away our friendship,” Dustin asked defensively. “We just want to keep him _safe_. He’s better off without having to worry about us and meeting our selfish needs all the time so he can focus on himself and getting healthy again.”

  
“He isn’t better off without you, Dustin. He _isn’t,_ ” Robin insisted as she parked the car in the Byers’ driveway. She twisted in her seat to face the others. “Steve has been struggling lately. Like really, really struggling. With everything. He doesn’t talk about it much because he’s not really one to complain, but these past couple months have really taken a toll on him. And not just physically. Everything… _everything_ is so much harder for him now and takes so much more out of him, even little things like just walking to the next room. And he’s been so _sad_ , so _down on himself_ because of it, even though he thinks he’s covering it up, but God…he’s such a bad liar. It’s _so_ obvious if you really look. I mean, even I can tell and you’ve spent more time around him than I have, so you have to have _seen it_. I wasn’t here the first time around, but anyone with eyes can see that the only time he seems truly happy is around you fools. He asks for so little, so how can you deny him something so important to him? How can you take that away from him?”

  
“I’ve seen it,” Dustin admitted incredibly softly, voice suspiciously wavering. “I thought we were making him worse by hanging around, and Halloween kinda sealed the deal. Even thinking he’d be better off, I couldn’t stay away completely, though. I worry about him all the time and I still wanted to check in on him.”

  
“The movie was one of the few things he was able to do for you guys, and he feels like he ruined the whole experience because of everything that happened. He was already beating himself up over all the things he _can’t_ do with you because of his cancer, like chauffeuring you all over town like he used to or walking around with you guys that night,” Robin revealed the little bit of information Steve had indirectly disclosed to her. “So, imagine how responsible he feels about everything that went down that night and ever since.”

  
“But that’s nuts,” Max cried. “ _Steve_ didn’t ruin that night. _We_ did!”

  
“And we totally get why he can’t do certain things. Of course, we _want_ him to do stuff with us, but we _understand_ that sometimes – okay, _most of the time_ \- he’s not able to now. But he shouldn’t feel bad about it,” Lucas said compassionately. “In fact, he should be _proud_ of how much he’s been able to do. Dude’s amazing…”

  
“Lucas is right. How does Steve not get how incredible he is,” Mike wondered disbelievingly. It was a sentiment he never thought he’d feel so strongly for the older boy. “None of it makes any sense. He’s fighting cancer for the _second time,_ so _of course_ there’s going to be some limits. Why does he expect so much of himself? No one else expects him to do everything. And it’s not like he chose any of this. Steve told me not to be sorry for things I couldn’t control, so why isn’t he taking his own advice? How can he even remotely blame himself – for any of it?”

  
“I get the feeling that it’s something he’s been doing his whole life, and it may be a habit that’s hard to break,” Robin wisely postulated. “We’ve all seen how his parents are and how they treat him – even now. And quite frankly, you guys haven’t helped the whole situation with your whole avoidance act. He needs constant reminders that he’s not responsible for being sick and that he can give himself permission to not feel well or bow out of things if he needs to. That he’s not letting anyone down by admitting when he’s too tired or weak or in pain to do something. On the other hand, he needs to trust that if he’s telling you he’s okay and feels like doing something, that you’ll _listen to_ him and not assume that whatever – or whoever – it is will harm him, without letting him making his own decisions. He just needs his friends to treat him like _Steve, our friend with cancer_ and not like Steve, _THE cancer_.”

  
Robin took in their crestfallen demeanors and knew she was breaking through to them, but she gave them one last little nudge. “I can’t put myself in Steve’s shoes. Not really. None of us can. But look guys, I know this much…He’s sick and he’s hurting and he’s scared and feeling so…helpless right now because no matter what he does, he just keeps getting sicker without the transplant. He needs someone to say it’s okay. To _make it_ okay when he can’t do it himself. That’s _us_. And Hopper. And Mrs. Byers. Staying away from him and treating him like he’s a glass pariah that’s going to break at any moment is so the opposite of that. It’s gonna take support from _all of us_ so he can stay strong and keep going, and support means _being there_. So, will you?”

  
Most of the group averted their gazes in shame. In their tangled, misguided adolescent brains, they thought they were doing Steve a favor by making themselves scarce. If they weren’t around every day, then his risk of being harmed by their presence was greatly diminished and he wouldn’t feel obligated to take care of them all the time. Steve could put every ounce of energy into fighting for his own well-being instead of worrying over theirs'. The younger teens now realized, thanks to Robin, that they paradoxically had stressed out his overtaxed system even further and inadvertently done the one thing they had strove to avoid at all costs with their absence – hurt him more. El looked Robin in the eyes intensely and nodded solemnly. “Go in now. Be there for Steve.”

  
“Great. C’mon then,” Robin exited the car and let Will go ahead of her to let them in.

  
Steve froze, remote mid-air, at the sight of the kids spilling through the front door. He clicked the TV off and labored to rise from the sofa to return to his room, assuming they were there for any other reason but to see him. Dustin halted him with a hand held out in front of him. “Wait. Stay sitting, Steve. We have something we need to say.”

  
Steve eyed them warily, but settled back into the cushions without argument. He glanced at Robin in confusion before turning his attention back to the kids. When no one spoke at first, he began to open his mouth.

  
Mike cut him off before even a syllable could escape his lips. “I swear to God, that’d better not be an apology about to come out of your mouth, Steve. ‘Cause you can’t be sorry for things you can’t control, remember? _You_ said that. And we’re the assholes here. Not you!”

  
“For once, Wheeler’s right,” Max gave the wavy, dark-haired boy a half-smile. “ _We’re_ the ones that need to apologize. Not just for that night, but ever since.”

  
“We thought we were protecting you. From us,” Lucas clarified.

  
“When Mrs. Byers told us what you’d been going through with the transfusions and bleeding and stuff, we were scared for you,” Dustin acknowledged. “We still are. We thought we could prevent anything else bad from happening by staying away from you. We now see the fallacy to our logic.”

  
“We’re so, so sorry,” Will whispered, on the verge of tears. “Can you ever forgive us?”

  
“We broke Hopper’s rule. We were stupid.” Steve knew El was completely and entirely serious, but the mention of the sheriff in such a context made him chuckle.

  
“You’ve been hurt so many times just by being around us. Me especially. Everything with Billy and now this. I couldn’t take the thought of it maybe doing permanent damage to you. None of us could, so we thought leaving you alone would be better. But Robin made us see how, well…stupid that was.” Max hesitantly crept nearer to the couch. “If that offer for a hug’s still good, I’d like to take you up on it.”

  
“Always.” Steve wrapped his arms around the red head, and the sensation was better than anything that he could ever remember feeling before. It gave him such immense relief when she squeezed back hard in response, like he wasn’t being handled and coddled like something so fragile and precious, but was back to just being Steve again. His old self was a bit of a smartass, though and he couldn’t resist adding, “Look at that. I’m still fine. Not broken.”

  
“Of course, you’re not. We know how strong you are. We just forgot, that’s all,” Dustin quipped, politely waiting for Max to let go before sliding into her place.

  
El stepped forward and shyly sought permission to hop on his lap which he, of course, granted. Steve couldn’t quite comprehend just exactly what El found so cozy about his pointy and bony frame as she nuzzled into him, but he supposed it had less to do with any physical comfort and more to do with emotional solace. Before he knew it, all the kids were invading his space, cramped onto the couch, and it was the most at peace he had been in quite awhile. Steve mouthed a brief ‘thank you’ to his former co-worker who only grinned in response.

  
“So, Steve,” Will began a little tentatively. “You and Mom never mentioned a surgery. Is it – is it something bad?”

  
Before Steve could even formulate an answer, Dustin lightly scolded him. “See, this is partly what I’m talking about. The more you hide from us, the worse we think it is and the more we worry. And then something like…all this happens.”

  
“You’re right,” Steve acknowledged his younger friend’s point. “And no, Will. It’s nothing bad. It’s the same one I had before. The infection’s gone for sure, so now they can put in another port which is better for me. The only difference is this time I have to go in a little earlier so they can give me platelets beforehand so I don’t bleed too much during the surgery.”

  
“And then you’ll get to come home after,” Dustin asked hopefully.

  
“Unfortunately, not until the day after.” Steve saw the alarm blossoming on their faces and rushed to explain before it could take root. “It’s not a big deal. They just want to make sure I don’t bleed after, too. And it’ll be easier on me in the long run because they can make sure it’s in the right place and give me the chemo before I go home, instead of coming back the next day.”

  
“Well, that’s good, I guess. Can we still visit you? I mean, that is, if you want us to,” Lucas added a little bashfully, not wanting to invite themselves to his hospital room if he’d rather be alone to recover.

  
“Sure. I mean, I guess. I’m not sure how coherent I’ll be, but, you know, I don’t mind.” Steve tried to downplay the fact that he actually did want them there, but he didn’t expect them to come and watch him while he slept off the anesthesia.

  
“Then we’ll be there after school, buddy. You can count on us.” Dustin gave him the sunny, toothless grin that Steve was so fond of and patted him on the shoulder.

  
“Doped up Steve is the best,” Max laughed as she rested her head on his other shoulder.

  
“God, don’t let me say anything too embarrassing Robin,” Steve begged. “I’ll never live it down.”

  
“Uh-uh. I’d kinda like to see what happens. I’ve never seen that side of you before. You’re on your own,” Robin winked to show she was only teasing and that he was anything but alone. Steve understood this as he flipped her off good-naturedly.

  
The surgery went well. There were no complications and he was home the next day as expected, although he still wasn’t clear if he had said or done anything completely mortifying. Everyone was quite tight-lipped in that regard, and it just fed into his paranoia until Dustin finally spilled the beans that he had just slept, barely speaking a word until later that evening.

  
Although Steve still had to contend with the tube in his nose, it was a welcome change to not have two additional ones dangling from his arm that tethered him to machinery four times a day. Once the stitches were removed from over the port, his main problem was the medication that ran through it. Each round was more debilitating than the last.

  
Moving his appointment up a couple days the week of Thanksgiving seemed like a good idea at the time so he could be over the worst of the sickness by the day of and enjoy the holiday, but now Steve was questioning ever agreeing to that as he continued to retch violently into the toilet.

  
The kids were off all week for the holiday break, and Steve had convinced Joyce to let Will stay over with Mike tonight so he wouldn’t have to be subjected to the full-blown side effects that were guaranteed to hit with a vengeance. Hopper was working and Jonathan wasn’t due in until early tomorrow, so Joyce had arranged to take Steve to chemo herself and stay by his side to deal with the grueling aftermath. Things never went exactly as planned, though. The harried mother was currently on a mad search for Steve’s nausea medications to alleviate the persistent vomiting, but wasn’t having much success.

  
Quite often, the medication containers somehow migrated to the kitchen, and that was the first place she checked. When that produced nothing, she dashed down the hall. Joyce had flung open the medicine cabinet in Steve’s bathroom, frantically plucking out the bottles and shaking them in desperation as the teenager remained hunched over the toilet, spasms unrelentingly racking his whole frame. When each orange vial proved empty, she chucked them onto the floor in frustration. They bounced and scattered around Steve’s kneeling form. She ran to his room and practically ransacked it in her haste to find some relief for the miserable boy.

  
“Shit! Shit! _Shit!_ ” Joyce rushed back into the bathroom. “I thought I had filled these. Steve, I’m so sorry. I’m gonna call Hopper and see if he can –“

  
“Go,” Steve pointed to the door. What he really wanted to tell her was that he’d be alright. She could leave him long enough to run to the pharmacy and get him the medication he so badly needed to curb the sickness. Waiting for Hopper would only prolong the process and would be worse than a few minutes alone. He wished he could've verbalized all of it, but the only other word he was able to manage between mouthfuls of bile and saliva was, “Faster.”

  
Luckily, being a mother – and a pretty intuitive one, at that - Joyce was able to decipher the underlying message. It wasn’t one she was entirely comfortable with, however. She was torn between leaving him to fend for himself while she got the medication in the hopes of reducing his distress or remaining here with him, but unable to do anything meaningful to stop the onslaught of misery. “Steve…”

  
“Go. Please,” he breathlessly begged, breaking her out of her indecision.

  
“Alright,” Joyce said as if it physically pained her, wrapping an arm around his shoulders from behind and kissing the back of his head. “I’ll be ten minutes. Ten. Minutes.”

  
Steve nodded, or at least, he thought he did. The room was starting to spin and dim. As soon as he was able to tear himself away from the lip of the porcelain without the impending threat of stomach contents creeping up the back of his throat, he stretched out onto the floor and pressed his cheek to the tiles. Their coolness grounded him, and he concentrated on controlling his breathing.

  
Steve was unsure how long he’d lain there, but he distantly heard the front door open and close. “Mom?” The voice was too deep to be Will’s, and it certainly wasn’t Joyce’s which confused him in his haze. “Will? Steve? I’m home.”

  
Jonathan. Steve wanted to yell back. Get up. Greet him. Something. All he could do was remain motionless on the bathroom floor as he rode out another wave of nausea and vertigo. There was rustling throughout the house as the other boy went room to room, seeking out the other occupants.

  
The bathroom at the end of the hall was the last place Jonathan checked and his heart rode the express elevator to his feet when he saw his friend splayed across the tiles. “Oh God! Steve! Steve? Please tell me you didn’t pass out, man. Or something worse.”

  
Steve felt his shoulder being jostled and he groaned weakly at the flip-flops his stomach was doing. He opened his eyes to find Jonathan hovering over him, only inches from his face.

  
When Jonathan saw Steve’s eyes staring back at him and the mess still floating in the toilet, he worked out for himself what was happening. “Oh, thank God! Are you by yourself? Where’s Mom?”

  
“Med-,” Steve swallowed thickly, grappling with his insides. It was only a matter of time before he lost the fight. “Medicine.” He poked Jonathan in the leg without raising his head. “Early?”

  
“Yeah. I didn’t really have exams, so…And an open-ended plane ticket mysteriously appeared in my mailbox.” Jonathan chuckled. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Steve?” Steve just shrugged. “Well, I’m sure you were behind it, so thank you.”

  
“S’okay,” Steve mumbled against the tiles. Speaking was the wrong move. He shakily pushed himself up on his forearms as fast as he could and dove towards the toilet, barely making it.

  
Even though he was spent, Steve stayed slumped over the commode, using it to keep himself upright as he panted heavily from the exertion. Jonathan reached around him to flush the liquid down and gripped the other teen’s shoulders to ease him back. “C’mon. I’ll get a bucket or something so you can lay in bed and be more comfortable.”

  
Steve shook his head very slowly to not aggravate his already churning gut. “Jus’ wanna stay here,” he moaned out as he sort of folded himself back onto the floor, not quite collapsing but near enough.

  
Jonathan exhaled deeply, confident that the floor was doing Steve no favors, but not wanting to force the boy to move if he wasn’t up to it. Jonathan propped himself against the wall, stripping off his jacket before he did so and folding it into a square he placed on his outstretched legs. “Here. At least use this as a pillow.”

  
Steve obeyed and lifted his head onto the bunched-up material. One of the many things he appreciated about Jonathan was he didn’t find it necessary to fill up every silence with useless chatter like some of the others did, himself included sometimes. Steve tried to allow the calmness of the room to infiltrate his insides and still them. It wasn’t really working.

  
The front door slammed shut. “I’m here! I’m here,” Joyce called out as her footsteps sped down the hall. “St- Jonathan?”

  
“I’ll explain later, Mom. Just help Steve, yeah?” Jonathan glanced up at his mom and back down at the prone figure.

  
“Yeah. Yeah. Yeah.” Joyce ripped open the packages and lined them up on the floor in Steve’s eyeline. “Which one first?”

  
Steve moved a finger in front of one particular orange vial.

  
“Okay, got it,” Joyce said as she pried open the top and filled a glass with water. “Can you sit up a bit, sweetheart?”

  
Steve used the arm at his side to raise himself up, but that only left one hand free. Joyce passed him the glass of water and then slipped the pill into his mouth for him. Steve tilted his head back to swallow and instantly began gagging as soon as the liquid and medication hit his stomach. He fought to hold it in, but it still came rushing out – pill and all - despite his best efforts.

  
This was bad, very bad, if Steve couldn’t even get down water or medication. At home there was no way to prevent him from getting dangerously dehydrated. A worried and knowing look was shared between mother and son. “Is there another way he can get this medication? Like in another form,” Jonathan asked.

  
“At the hospital they usually give it to him IV, but obviously we can’t do that right now. There’s, well, I guess there’s, _suppositories_ ,” Joyce whispered the word as she sent an apologetic look in Steve’s direction, “but we’d have to get some.”

  
“No,” Steve protested vehemently in the strongest voice he had been able to summon all day. “No hospitals. And definitely not…the other thing.”

  
Jonathan sympathized with Steve. Neither option was attractive, but he couldn’t go on like this for an extended period of time. They would just have to come up with something else. There had to be another solution. Jonathan’s eyes landed on the tube snaking out from behind Steve’s ear and it sparked an idea. “Did they – did they ever give you medicine through that thing?”

  
“Once or twice maybe,” Steve said vaguely.

  
“Could we crush the pills and dissolve them in water, and get them in that way,” Jonathan suggested.

  
“If they’re crushable, I suppose. It’d be worth a shot.” Joyce sought the opinion of the person who mattered most in this whole equation. “Steve? Whaddaya think? Want to give it a try?”

  
Steve just gave a thumbs up because every time he opened his mouth was a gamble whether it was solely words that would come out. Keeping quiet didn’t seem to matter this time, however, as more came out regardless.

  
“Okay. Okay. Show us which ones are the right ones.” Steve was draped over the lid, but was still able to nod each time a nausea med was shown to him. “So, that’s three. Is that right, Steve?” Again, he nodded.

  
Jonathan studied the pills. “They all look crushable. Do we spread them out?”

  
Steve realized the mother and son pair were looking to him, so he inhaled and exhaled carefully before trying to respond to keep things as settled as possible. “Normally. But I – I don’t know,” he took another measured breath, “if I can – I can handle that much water.”

  
Joyce leapt up. “Okay. I’m going to call the pharmacy and make sure these can be crushed and mixed. Just hang on.” She reappeared a few minutes later clutching a bowl and a large spoon to her chest. “They said it’d be okay. I brought this to crush them with. I’ll go get the other stuff.”

  
“Here, Mom. I’ll do it,” Jonathan reached out for the items she carried. “Just go get the rest.”

  
Jonathan shook out the three pills into the bowl that Steve had indicated, and began crushing them into a fine powder with the back of the spoon. He added some water to the concoction to dissolve them and then drew the mixture up in the syringe Joyce had retrieved from the nightstand that fit in the end of the tube. “Now what? I just…push it in?”

  
“Yeah. Yeah,” Steve squeezed his eyes shut against the continued queasiness. “Then plain water. A whole syringe. To flush it. Slow. Please go slow.”

  
“Okay. Makes sense.” Jonathan connected the tip of the syringe to the tube and managed to get the medication into Steve at a steady, but reasonable pace. The flush, as Steve called it, proved more difficult due to the larger volume of liquid involved. Jonathan studied Steve closely, and had to stop more than once when Steve’s complexion faded to an ashy green, but the boy still managed to hold it in, presumably by sheer will alone. When it was all over, Jonathan didn’t know who was more relieved – himself or Steve.

  
Steve stretched himself back out on the bathroom floor, wordlessly conveying his intentions to stay close to the toilet for the time being. Joyce chewed on her lip as she surveyed the sad scene, and started to crouch down.

  
“No, Mom. I’ll – I’ll stay with him. Go relax or something.” Jonathan flicked his head towards the door, signaling her to leave.

  
Joyce’s initial inclination was to stay, but she accurately surmised that Jonathan needed to do this for his own reasons that he chose not to voice. “Alright. Can I get you two anything?”

  
“Maybe a blanket? And a pillow? For Steve,” Jonathan requested as his gaze landed on the shivering ball of what had become one of his best friends.

  
When his mom handed him the sought after objects, Jonathan placed the pillow in his lap and aided Steve in positioning his head upon it. He then spread the blanket over top Steve in hopes of abating the violent trembling.

  
After a nearly blissful, vomit-free hour had passed, Jonathan decided he should probably chance getting Steve back to his own bed. The cold, hard floor would catch up to the ailing boy at some point if he didn’t. Jonathan gently jiggled his shoulder and called his name until Steve squinted up at him. “It’s been a little bit. Do you – do you wanna try to get back to your bed?”

  
Steve considered for a moment, taking inventory of his body before nodding his head. Jonathan uncovered him and supported him as he shakily sat up. It was clear that Steve wasn’t going to be able to get off the ground by himself, so Jonathan threaded his arm under the other boy’s to assist him. Steve’s knees buckled almost instantly, and there were more than a few seconds when Jonathan’s arm bore all the weight, but the worst part of the whole thing was how little Jonathan had to strain to keep him upright. Steve was so incredibly _light_ and was barely a wisp of what he used to be.

  
Jonathan tried not to think about it too much, and what it meant, as the pair hobbled across the hall at a sluggish speed, Steve not capable of going any faster in his state. Finally, they made it to the bed and Steve sunk down onto it gratefully. Jonathan got him settled and made sure there were bins nearby just in case.

  
There was one more thing he wanted to do before retreating to his room. Jonathan went into Will’s bedroom and dug around until he found what he was looking for. He replaced the batteries and went back across the hall to give one to Steve. “So, um…these are Will’s old walkie talkies. They’re not as good, and don’t go as far as the new ones you all have, but I put fresh batteries in, so…I’ve got the other one and I’m right down the hall. If you need anything – anything at all, just call me on that,” he pointed to the plastic box.

  
Steve gripped the small rectangle in his hand and huffed out a brief laugh. “Not quite the ‘welcome home’ you should’ve had, is it? Your brother isn’t even home.”

  
“Wasn’t expecting a party. And Mom’s here. You’re here. That matters, too,” Jonathan told him pointedly, urging him once again to use the walkie talkies if needed. “I’m serious, Steve. Just call if you’re sick again or need something or even if you’re just…scared. Don’t try to do it alone, man.” Steve nodded to him without looking him in the eyes, but Jonathan needed more solid reassurance than that. “Promise me you won’t try to get up by yourself. Promise me, okay?”

  
“Promise. Thanks,” Steve whispered before letting his eyes fall shut, too worn out to stay awake any longer.

  
It might’ve seemed a little creepy, but Jonathan couldn’t help but stare as he stood guard over the other boy, drinking in every drastic change to his friend in the past few months. There were aspects of Steve’s appearance that Jonathan was expecting and had even grown used to from the previous battle – the feeding tube, the hair loss, some weight loss. But not this dramatic of a change in such a short span of time. Steve appeared thinner and bonier to the degree that it seemed that that was all he _was_ , was a pile of bones. He was paler than ever before, the purple shadows under his eyes highlighting that fact. And he seemed weaker – maybe subtly, but weaker just the same. And overall, he just seemed plain… _sicker_ than last time. It wasn’t anything more specific that Jonathan could put his finger on, but rather a gut feeling. Or maybe he wasn’t remembering correctly, and it was just a defense mechanism that had been triggered in Jonathan’s brain that blocked out just how horrible the last time really was.

  
Lost in his ruminations, Jonathan hadn’t noticed Joyce had joined him in the hall, quietly coming to check on Steve herself. Jonathan locked eyes with her. “Tell me I’m just being crazy and it’s my imagination going wild, but…Steve seems…I don’t know…worse. Is it really as bad as I think?”

  
“It’s not…,” Jonathan’s hope flared as his mother began her sentence, but came crashing back to reality as she completed her thought. “It’s not…good right now. I’m sorry, baby. But the medicine took some time to work last time, too, so maybe it’ll just take a little longer. Who knows?”

  
The pair stood silently in the doorway, watching over the pallid, sweaty boy in the bed taking rapid, shallow breaths in a subconscious effort to still his stomach. He was dozing fitfully, as much as his broken body would allow.

  
“Isn’t there anything else they can do for him? Different medicine? A new treatment? _Something_ ,” Jonathan pleaded, not really expecting a positive response and not receiving one. “Isn’t there anything else _we_ can do for him, Mom,” Jonathan asked a little desperately, feeling helpless and horrified at the marked decline in Steve’s condition since he had left for college this last time.

  
She shook her head very slowly, her voice breaking despite her efforts to control it. It was a tone Jonathan was very familiar with. “Pray. That he finds a match. Other than that,” she patted her oldest son lovingly on the shoulder and gave him a watery smile, “let’s just make this Thanksgiving and Christmas count for him. You know, just in case.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Nightmare on Elm Street scene was loosely based on something that really happened to me. I somehow convinced my parents to let me see it at a slumber party when I was really young, and yeah...no one slept that night. To this day, Freddy still gets to me a little - especially the first one (and I'm talking the original, not the ridiculous remake), so since it fit in perfectly with the story, I thought it'd be fun to include. As far as my checkup goes, I'm still waiting on a few results. A couple lab values were a teensy bit worse, but otherwise so far, so good, though...so, fingers crossed.


	15. Know That I Will Never Marry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve has some heart-to-heart conversations, revealing something heartbreaking to Nancy during one of them and something utterly devastating during the others, causing the holidays to have more significance than ever before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still humbly blown away by people still wanting to read this story, so thank you!!! All the continued kudos, bookmarks etc. warm my heart <3 I really love all comments and read and take-in every one, so please keep 'em coming! TW for side effects as usual, but also for some pretty heavy and personal subjects that can come along with this illness and treatment. I don't want to say too much, but if it gets to you, proceed with caution. As always, happy reading and stay well!

The rich aromas of cinnamon and sage and a kaleidoscope of other spices wafted through the small house from the kitchen, gradually permeating each room with their enticing fragrances. The sweet smells had been blending together and building to create one rich, layered scent, taking over the cozy dwelling since early this morning when the marathon of cooking had begun for their family’s relatively new tradition of the-Saturday-after-the-holiday-Thanksgiving.

  
Steve sat at the kitchen table, various ingredients thrown haphazardly across its surface as six teenagers encircled him, awaiting instructions. After last year’s amazing spread, there was no dispute who the best chef in the group was, but Steve simply did not possess the stamina needed to repeat such a meal. So, the kids had convinced him that they would be his legs and hands and perform all the work if he would just direct them.

  
Mike had dragged Nancy out of bed at the crack of dawn to give him a ride to the Byers’. It wasn’t that Nancy wasn’t eager to get there, also. She had missed Steve terribly. Almost three months had passed without contact and she was growing impatient at the separation, but the holiday and family obligations had delayed her plans to visit him sooner. As excited as she was to see him again, she was equally petrified that when _did_ see him that she wouldn’t be able to keep her heart glued together into one cohesive, functioning organ. That it would just explode into a million tiny pieces at the mere sight of him.

  
Her brother, and to some extent Jonathan, had warned her of what to expect when she first laid eyes on him, but Nancy was still woefully unprepared for the extreme magnitude of Steve’s deterioration. How inordinately thin and sallow he’d become. How appallingly frail and weak he was. Watching him try to stand with enormous difficulty before being gently held in place by Dustin’s hand, a small look of displeasure crossing his features at his noncooperative body, it fully sunk in. The scene before her was bittersweet because Steve was all those awful things at first glance, but beneath the surface and in spite of his physical state, he exuded an air of genuine contentment as the kids surrounded him. That was the one true solace in all this.

  
Fine white particles danced in the air and settled down to coat everything in a thin film as Steve patiently showed El how to knead and roll out the dough. On a whim, she dipped her hands into the flour and brought them down on the older boy’s bare head, leaving a ghost of her handprints behind. Steve retaliated by plunging his finger into the flour and depositing a bit onto her nose with the tip of his finger. El’s eyes lit up as she giggled and touched her forehead to Steve’s while discreetly trying to rub the flour off her nose onto his face.

  
The click of a shutter pulled Nancy out of her reverie. Jonathan had been intermittently capturing moments throughout the day. “It’s great, isn’t it?”

  
The corners of Nancy’s lips ticked upwards as Mike snaked an arm around Steve’s shoulder, giving the older boy a brief side-hug before trailing his hand across his back, leaving a handprint too perfect to be anything but purposeful before going back to slicing apples. Affectionate and lighthearted were not words she would have ever associated with her little brother, but somehow his friends – El and Steve, in particular – brought out that side of him. “What? Steve with the kids? Yeah, who would’ve thought? But somehow it just…always works.”

  
“Well, yeah. _That,_ but also…how _comfortable_ he seems now. In his own skin, I mean.” Jonathan inconspicuously drew her attention to the subtle signs that illustrated his point. Steve pushed up his sleeves, leaving all the bruises and purplish marks that marred his skin fully exposed, no longer crossing his arms and placing a hand over certain areas to cautiously conceal his blemishes or tugging his hat down further to cover up not only his lack of hair, but to camouflage as much of the feeding tube as he could. The hat now lay discarded to the side, almost forgotten. “Everyone. My mom…Dustin especially…kept telling him he shouldn’t hide his ‘battle scars’. It’s nice that he finally listened and doesn’t feel the need to do that, anymore. At least around us, anyway.”

  
“Yeah. It’s not that he’s not used to being the center of attention when it comes to his looks. Back in high school he was totally aware how the girls swooned over his hair and just how pretty, in general, he was. It’s not usually how one would describe a guy, but it sorta fit him, ya know.” Nancy twisted her necklace around as she pondered over how to phrase what she was thinking. “He was proud of it, too. _Enjoyed_ all the gawking. It’s not like that anymore, and it makes me hurt for him. So many things have had to change, and it must be incredibly tough for him to once again lose what he thought was such a big part of his identity. He never used to be so self-conscious about his appearance, but now people stare for a much _different_ reason and he knows that. I can’t blame them - or him, but I wish... He’s not the same … well, I’d have a hard time with it, too, so I get why –“

  
Jonathan couldn’t believe what he was hearing, and how shallow and insensitive his girlfriend sounded right now. He immediately went on the defensive on Steve’s behalf, and practically hissed in her ear, “Are you saying he’s – What exactly are you trying to say, Nancy? That he should go along with some arbitrary societal standards and cover himself back up and hide away like the Hunchback of Notre Dame?”

  
“What? Oh my God! No! I wasn’t – I was actually agreeing with you. All I mean, is that I understand why he felt the way he did based on his past experiences – probably still feels - but I wish he didn’t. And I really hope you’re right.”

  
“Right about what, exactly?”

  
“That he accepts himself as is. I want him to get to a place where he’s not only comfortable around us, but as equally comfortable in public, too. There’s so much more about Steve that makes him attractive than just those superficial things, and he deserves to know that – _feel that_. I want him to be able to see himself in the same way he used to. To see himself in the same stunning light we do now. You know it’s strange, but in many ways he’s more beautiful to me now than he ever was when we were dating.” Nancy hugged herself and rubbed at her arms, nervously tittering. “Sorry. I guess that’s a pretty weird thing to say to your _current_ boyfriend about your _ex_ -boyfriend.”

  
“Usually, yeah. But nothing about any of the last few years has been exactly normal.” Jonathan smiled at her to show her that he understood and he wasn’t jealous. And he also felt a little guilty for jumping to conclusions without hearing her out. “Besides, being an aspiring photographer, I’m sorta trained to see the beauty in every scenario.”

  
“Even potentially tragic ones,” Nancy asked sadly.

  
“Maybe _especially_ those,” Jonathan said thoughtfully. “And I’ve definitely seen what you’re referring to. It’s like this magnetism…this light inside that never used to be there.”

  
“Exactly!” Nancy wound her arms around Jonathan’s neck and pecked him on the lips, relieved he grasped her true meaning despite her poor attempts to explain herself. The kiss was brief, but when they pulled apart, she could see Steve watching them fondly before diverting his attention back to the food preparation and the kids.

  
Will precariously balanced the pie, careful not to spill any of the filling as he placed it in the oven. Even though they couldn’t hear what their former classmate was telling the kids, it must’ve been baking instructions because immediately thereafter, Lucas adjusted the knobs on the stove and set the kitchen timer. Presumably reaching a stopping point, Steve pressed his hands flat against the table and meagerly pushed up. He only managed to raise himself up a few inches before crumpling back into the chair.

  
Steve slumped forward against the table, balanced on his elbows, visibly upset and trying to rally his strength to get up from his seat. Nancy moved to help him, but Max and Dustin beat her to it, carefully linking their arms with his and gently lifting until he was fully upright and able to stand on his own two feet. He passed her by, averting his eyes, but placing a hand on her shoulder briefly as if to say, ‘I’m alright’.

  
Steve crossed to the coatrack, yanking the hat down on his head before wrestling his arms into his jacket, fighting with the zipper and getting increasingly flustered. Giving up, he escaped through the front door, Nancy fast on his heels.

  
“What are you doing out here, Steve?” She had caught him in the act of sitting, and her sudden arrival caused him to stumble and essentially fall onto the glider. “Shit! Sorry, but it’s freezing out here. You’ll catch your…”

  
“Death,” Steve finished wryly. “Yeah, I don’t think the cold is what’s going to do me in, Nance.”

  
Nancy opened her mouth to apologize for her near-tactless turn of phrase, but when she caught Steve’s gaze, his eyes were dancing with amusement. She matched his mirth and playfully shoved his shoulder before parking herself down next to him. “Jerk.”

  
The laughter that shook his body ebbed away and dissolved into shivers. Steve grasped the zipper of his gray jacket, but he fumbled with it again, his hands trembling so much that he couldn’t get the two ends to meet properly. Nancy glanced up, seeking permission before she lined the two sides up and fastened it for him, stopping the ascent of the metal clasp just short of his neck. “Thanks.”

  
“Sure.” Nancy pensively chewed on her lip. “But it really _is_ cold. So, why did you come out here, anyway?”

  
Steve inhaled and exhaled deeply. “Certain tastes…smells set me off sometimes. Being in there was, um, starting to make me feel sick. I came out here to get some fresh air.”

  
“Is it helping?” He shook his head reluctantly and Nancy stroked his arm that was wrapped around his middle. “Oh, Steve. Is there anything I can do to help? Get you some medicine or something?”

  
“Yeah. Yeah, that might be good. Thanks. It’s in my room,” he pointed to the front door and told her which one to bring out.

  
Nancy returned a few minutes later, a blanket clutched to her and juggling a cup of water and an orange vial in the other hand. Steve took them from her, downing the medication and the water before shoving the container in his pocket. “Thanks, really, but you don’t have to stay out here with me, you know. You should go inside and get warm.”

  
“I don’t mind,” Nancy said as she settled next to Steve on the glider and spread the blanket over both of them.

  
Steve bumped her shoulder with his own. “So, it seems the long-distance thing is still going pretty well, huh?”

  
Nancy shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. It’s okay.”

  
“Pffft. Just okay? You know what I think,” Steve leaned closer and said conspiratorially. “I think you two are going to wind up together and have like, a whole bunch of really smart and talented kids.”

  
“Steve! We don’t need to discuss this,” Nancy squirmed uncomfortably.

  
“Why not? I thought we were past all that. I know _I_ am. I just want you to be happy,” Steve told her honestly. “Besides, we all know that Hopper and Joyce may never get their shit together, so I have to live vicariously through you two.”

  
“Steve,” Nancy elongated his name and turned it into two syllables. “No one’s living vicariously through anyone, here. You’re going to get better and have your happily ever after. You’re going to get married and live in a cute little house with a white picket fence after you graduate from college and start a fabulous career - the whole nine yards - someday, too. And you’ll come home from your great job every day and spoil your flock of kids rotten.”

  
“No, I won’t,” Steve said matter-of-factly, without even the slightest trace of self-pity. “C’mon, Nance. College was never gonna happen before all this. And moving out requires a good job, and no employer in any real job is going to touch someone without a degree and whose health is always questionable, at best. And the reality is, is it might not ever get better.”

  
Nancy’s face fell because everything he said was true, no matter how hard the reality was to swallow, but she tried to salvage hope for what part of his future she could. “You’re gonna beat this, Steve. You _are_. And you’re gonna meet someone that sees how special you are, fall in love, have a boatload of kids.”

  
“Why? ‘Cause I’m such a catch? That’s a nice dream, but it’s just that – a dream.” Steve laughed hollowly, without any humor behind it, excavating a long-buried snippet of knowledge from deep inside his brain which he had first been presented with at the very beginning of this hellish journey. That revelation had fallen to the wayside in the chaos of his initial diagnosis. There were much more pressing concerns to deal with at the time, but it was still a piece of news that left him crushed. Nancy’s innocent statements had called up that repressed memory and unknowingly twisted the knife in his heart. It cut him deep into his soul, and his expression must have reflected that.

  
He had not shared that heartbreaking secret with anyone with the exception of Hopper and Joyce, who were in the room when the avalanches of information were piled onto him. He had never talked about it because there was no point giving voice to something so personal and devastating that couldn’t be fixed. Steve had erroneously assumed that with all their research that _someone_ would have put two and two together, but looking into her confused eyes, he realized it was something she was still completely oblivious to. “I guess you wouldn’t know, would you? Why would you?”

  
“Know what,” Nancy’s brows knitted further together. “I don’t understand.”

  
“Nance, even if I beat this again – and that’s a big ‘if’ right now- and then _if_ I could find someone who could put up with all of that and my health issues on top of it, I couldn’t ask her to also give up the possibility of having children, too.” Steve looked away, lips quivering, and Nancy doubted the cold was to blame. Her suspicions were confirmed when he turned back to her a few moments later, eyes glistening. “The medicine – the chemo – it pretty much guarantees that – um, it makes you sterile. I won’t ever be able to have kids, Nance.”

  
The picture he had continuously painted of their envisioned future together always – _always_ – included children, although the numbers sometimes varied. It was something he wanted very badly, to give his kids what he never had, and to have that ability stripped away from him so senselessly, robbing him of one of his heart’s greatest desires, shattered Nancy’s own heart on his behalf. She pulled him into a tight embrace. “Oh, Steve. I’m so sorry.” Because what else could she say?

  
Nancy continued to hold onto him, letting him release something he had kept inside for far too long. His faint sniffles tickled her ear. A light chuckle suddenly interrupted the tears that fell. “I guess it’s a good thing that I accidently wound up practically adopting some middle schoolers a couple years back.”

  
“Yeah,” Nancy agreed. “Congratulations. You have six feisty teenagers.”

  
“Uh, seven, thank you very much,” Steve corrected. “Erica may not be a teenager yet, but she will hunt you down and kick your ass if she knew you excluded her.”

  
Nancy’s body shook in sync with Steve’s as they laughed. “Noted,” she said before giving a final squeeze and pulling back, wiping the remnants of tears off his cheeks.

  
“So, what’d I miss,” Robin asked breathlessly as she ran up the driveway.

  
“Oh, nothing much. Just the entire preparation of the meal the kids and I slaved over all day.” Steve eyed the container in her hand. “Ice cream. Really, Rob?”

  
“Hey, gimme a break. I worked all day, and only stopped home to change. And you said you were making pie. So, now it’s a la mode,” she waved the ice cream around enticingly. “And if it’s one of the few things you can get down, that’s an added bonus.”

  
“You two know each other, right,” Steve waggled a finger between the two girls.

  
“Yeah. Hey,” Robin greeted Nancy. “C’mon. Let’s get you back inside, dingus, before you catch your death.”

  
Robin unintentionally echoed the words verbatim that Nancy had tripped over earlier. Nancy felt an irrational pang of jealously shoot through her at the fearlessness the other girl exhibited when she spoke, and how at ease Steve seemed to be in her presence. They had had that effortlessness once. She had thrown it all away, and even though it was the way it was supposed to be, how she treated Steve would always be one of her biggest regrets.

  
“Wanna give me a hand, Wheeler,” Robin prompted her to offer an arm to Steve. Together, the two females were able to hoist him up onto his feet and steady him as they made their way back inside.

  
Most of the group was gathered around the TV in the living room except for Hopper and Dustin who were on the periphery of the room, appearing deep in conversation. The crew half-heartedly welcomed Robin, too engrossed in their movie to properly acknowledge her as she peeled off her jacket and then assisted Steve with his. She showed herself to the kitchen to stick the ice cream in the freezer. “Holy shit! It looks like Tom Turkey threw up in here.”

  
Steve had been teetering on the razor’s edge of nausea all afternoon, but the combination of Robin’s comment and the odors that overwhelmed his senses once again sent him over the brink. He staggered forward like a drunk man as his hands scrambled for purchase on the walls to propel himself down the hallway faster.

  
“Shit! Steve,” Dustin interrupted Hopper’s response to follow his friend. The policeman brushed past him on his longer legs, gripping the nineteen-year old around his tiny waist, sweeping him the rest of the way down the hallway and into the bathroom just in the nick of time.

  
“Sorry about that. I think I’m okay now,” Steve flushed the toilet and straightened up.

  
“Don’t apologize, kid.” Hopper patted him on the back. “Are you sure you’re going to be up to dinner?”

  
“Yeah. I don’t know how much I’ll be able to eat, but I think it was a one-time thing,” Steve honestly assessed.

  
“Good, because the kid over here came up with an impressive surprise for you for after dinner.” Hopper walked across the hall and snatched up a bag that he threw at Steve who caught it easily. “I know you’ve been complaining that none of your clothes fit anymore and you had nothing to wear other than pajamas and sweatpants, so I picked up a little something.”

  
“I swear to God, Hop, if this is a Hawaiian shirt to match the one you have, I am _not_ wearing that,” Steve grumbled good-naturedly as he plucked out the items from the bag.

  
“Shut yer yapper there, kid. It ain’t my fault you have no sense of fashion, Harrington.” The chief gestured to the bag. “Just take a peek at those duds.”

  
Steve removed a pair of faded, acid-wash jeans, khakis, and an assortment of long-sleeve shirts. “Okay, not bad.”

  
“Not bad? I braved the mall at the holidays with two, count ‘em, _two_ teenage girls in tow to put in their two cents so you wouldn’t look like, and I quote, ‘a cheap knock-off Magnum P.I.’. Like that’s an insult,” Hopper exclaimed with mock indignation as Steve finished rinsing out his mouth and drug a washcloth over his face and head to remove any particles of flour that still clung to him from the earlier escapades in the kitchen. Somehow it had even gotten into the shell of his ear.

  
Steve chose a pair of jeans and a green, cable-knit sweater from the stack and crossed the hall into his bedroom. “Alright, then. More than good. Fantastic, even. Thank you.” He checked the size labels before turning his back and shrugging off his shirt, mumbling, "I think at this point my clothes are smaller than Dustin’s.”

  
“Hey, if that was a knock on my weight…,” Dustin’s words trailed off as he got a full view of Steve’s bare back, mottled with bruises and littered with pinpoint red dots that only served to glaringly highlight each sharply defined individual rib and vertebrae. Every bone jutted out unmercifully, the skin stretched tautly across them as if the subcutaneous fat and muscles were nonexistent.

  
The younger boy exchanged a look with the police officer who only shook his head briefly to keep him from remarking on it, clearly not the first time he had seen what Dustin had.

  
“Relax. It wasn’t about _your_ weight. More a comment on _mine_ ,” Steve said as he pulled a t-shirt on and layered the sweater on top of it. “If you’re that sensitive about it, try not wearing a shirt that says ‘roast beef’ on it, dipshit.”

  
“Yeah,” Dustin uttered distractedly, disturbed by his friend’s jarring appearance. Intellectually he knew that the weight loss was even more drastic than last time, even with the earlier intervention of the tube feeding. The nutrients he ingested were quickly depleted and stolen away by a greedy and insidious thief. The cancer robbed him of precious calories his body needed to build and maintain healthy tissue, and only kept him functioning at the most basic levels. As a result, Steve’s clothing only served as a near-futile attempt to poorly disguise the jagged edges of his skeleton that poked out all over. With each hug or touch Dustin could feel just how _brittle_ Steve had become under his fingertips. It was evident in his growing weakness just how much muscle tone he had lost, but until now the younger boy had never seen it – literally – in the flesh.

  
Misunderstanding his friend’s monotone reply as hurt feelings, Steve rushed forward to rectify his alleged mistake, placing a well-meaning hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You know I was only kidding, right? You’re perfect the way you are, Dusty. You know that, don’t you?”

  
Dustin gave him a half-smile, gripping Steve’s stick-thin forearm in his comparatively larger palm, the contact of his bird-like appendage sending a pang zinging through the younger boy’s chest at how fast his friend was shrinking and disappearing before his very eyes, one agonizing pound at a time. Sooner or later, there would be nothing left to take but his breath and his very life, itself. “Yeah, I know. I hope you know that you are, too, Steve.”

  
“Yeah, buddy. Message received.” Steve ruffled the curly hair through the mesh of the hat before giving him a tiny squeeze around the neck. “Would you mind giving me a minute to finish changing?”

  
“Sure.” Dustin stepped out into the hallway, almost relieved for the reprieve to reign in his emotions.

  
Hopper moved into the doorway to exit, also, but Steve stopped him before he could. “Hop, I-,” Steve shifted his eyes downward, deeply embarrassed to ask, but knowing how awful his balance became when he was this worn out and how much difficulty he had with the closures on his jacket earlier. He had gravely surpassed whatever physical reserves he had possessed and could no longer pretend otherwise.

  
Luckily, Hopper caught his drift without him having to explicitly spell it out. “Don’t worry. I gotcha, kid.”

  
The door clicked shut softly. Dustin waited patiently out in the hallway for them to emerge as he mulled over the merit of his surprise. Steve had been stuck in a rut, his mood continuously plummeting to an all-time low since his second diagnosis, only compounded further by the humiliation of having to have help with even simple tasks like standing up and what was transpiring behind the closed bedroom door. Dustin wasn’t naïve enough to believe he could wave a magic wand and fix everything, but he longed to raise Steve’s spirits just a little by giving him back a part of his old self that he truly loved – even if only for a few brief moments. Hopper had seen the value of his idea and handled the preparations, but Dustin was now questioning his decision. Steve’s waning strength may hinder him from fully participating which would only serve to drive him into a deeper depression.

  
Before he could allow his thoughts to turn darker, the pair came out and Dustin shifted his focus. “Looking pretty snazzy there, Steve.”

  
“Thanks. It’s kinda nice not looking like a total slob for once.” Steve slipped his arm around the younger teen as they slowly made their way to the decorated table, Dustin bearing more of his weight than he wanted to admit. “You ready to taste all your hard work?”

  
“The only reason it’s going to be half-way good is because you told us what to do.” Steve tried to protest the scope of his role in it, but Dustin wouldn’t allow him to shrug off his contribution. “Everything’s better when you get involved, Steve. It’s just a fact, so deal with it.”

  
“You give me too much credit, but thanks. Happy Thanksgiving, Henderson,” Steve rested his pointy chin atop the contained curls before pulling a chair out and situating himself.

  
“Happy Thanksgiving, Steve.” Dustin broke away to sit with the other younger teens, leaving his friend positioned at the end of the table between Hopper and Joyce.

  
“This all looks amazing, sweetheart.” Joyce slipped her hand into his and clasped it tightly before releasing it and rubbing circles onto his back. “Let’s dig in, shall we?”

  
Steve took miniscule amounts of everything, enough to taste test so as not to offend any of the kids, but not enough to upset the delicate balance of his stomach. For him, it was less about the food on the table and more about the people surrounding it.

  
He was careful to praise all their efforts and compliment all the dishes, even managing to get small-portioned seconds of a few foods. The kids beamed with pride at him, but still insisted his cooking skills were far superior which he humbly denied until Mike settled the argument once and for all. “Look, right now you _are_ better than us. We’ve only had a couple lessons at most, and you’ve had a lot more practice. But we want to learn and beat you one day. Will you teach us, Steve?”

  
“So, you want me to impart my knowledge about something I’m actually _good_ at so you can _beat me_ at it?” Mike nodded enthusiastically as Steve appeared to mull this over and sighed melodramatically. “Oh, alright. God, I am such a _sucker_.”

  
“Well, if the sucker and his apprentices wouldn’t mind moving over to the couch so we can get some family photos like Mom wanted before we clear the table, that would be great,” Jonathan suggested amiably.

  
The group obeyed and allowed Jonathan to direct them into various poses and place them next to one another in different arrangements. Only Steve was allowed to remain relatively stationary, the others bustling around him. In Jonathan’s more-than-capable hands the whole process took less than thirty minutes, even accounting for the time he needed to situate himself and activate the camera on the tripod.

  
The adults and kids dispersed afterwards, pitching in to clean up the leftovers and dirty dishes. Steve made a motion to join them, but Hopper stopped him with a hand on the back of the neck. “Not so fast, there. As head chef your services are no longer needed. ‘Sides, your sidekick here has been holding it in all day and wants to give you your surprise now.”

  
Dustin held something tight in his fist. He unclenched it and dropped the object into Steve’s outstretched hand. Steve fondled the familiar keyring. “Is this – are these my car keys?”

  
“Yep. It was just collecting dust at your parents’ house. I figured you’d might like to have it back and drive it now and then. You know, a way to get out of the house,” Dustin excitedly explained.

  
“Got her oil changed, and she’s all gassed up and ready to go if you wanna take her for a spin,” Hopper grinned at him.

  
“Now? You mean you’re going to let me behind the wheel,” Steve asked incredulously.

  
“Well, I really don’t want you to go off on your own with the kids. I’d feel better if another licensed driver were with you in case anything…well, I trust your judgement that you won’t put yourself or anyone else in danger if you don’t think you’re up for it.” Hopper had made a career out of reading people, but in that moment Steve was impossible to get a bead on. “Whatcha think, kid?”

  
“You trust my judgement?” Steve looked at the policeman like he had just hung the moon.

  
“Why wouldn’t I,” Hopper shrugged, bewildered at Steve’s astonishment.

  
“Besides you, no adult has ever said that to me before.” Steve turned the key over and over in his hand, almost reverently, deep in thought. Hopper had not only demonstrated his faith in Steve over and over again, but just verbally confirmed it, as well. And coming from him, it was high praise indeed. It almost made Steve want to cry. It was a sentiment that was altogether foreign to him and one he would never even think of betraying. “This is – this is really amazing. Thank you. Both of you. Really. But…I don’t think going out tonight is a good idea. Today took a lot out of me. It’d be better to wait. I’m sorry.”

  
Disappointment flashed in Dustin’s eyes before he was able to stuff it down and school his expression. “It’s okay, Steve. Don’t be sorry. I just hope you like it.”

  
“I _love_ it! This was such a good idea. I really have been missing my car and being able to drive it. Thanks, Dusty,” Steve pulled him in for a hug. “Maybe you can ride along when I do go out if Hopper’s okay with it.”

  
“Got any plans for Tuesday? That’s the next day I’m off. Wanna shoot for then,” Hopper offered.

  
“Tuesday’s good. I won’t have had a treatment in eight days, so maybe I’ll have a better day,” Steve said optimistically. It wasn’t a guarantee, but the odds would be slightly more in his favor.

  
As it turned out, Tuesday was the perfect day all the way around. The weather was sunny and relatively mild for a day that was closer on the calendar to winter than summer. The sky was such a brilliant azure that one had to squint at its brightness. And physically, Steve was feeling much better than he had the other day. The fatigue and the pain stayed muted to a dull roar that only occasionally flared, instead of the persistent pulsating throbbing that Steve felt more often than not – an aching sometimes so intense that warring with it sapped his energy completely and hampered his movement. He was grateful for the small reprieve as he gripped the steering wheel and twisted around in his seat. “You sure you’re okay with this? There’s going to be six kids crammed into the backseat. Illegally, I might add.”

  
“Well, I’m off duty, so I won’t tell if you won’t,” Hopper said cheekily.

  
“So, like, I could speed all I wanted and you couldn’t pull me over?” Steve turned the key and the engine rumbled to life.

  
“Don’t push your luck, Harrington. Just drive.” Hopper knew Steve was only messing with him and bit back a grin at his ribbing. If anyone deserved a little good cheer, it was the boy sitting on his left. And if he wanted to nudge the accelerator a little over the limit, he might just turn a blind eye.

  
The wheels sung over the asphalt, creating a constant hum that was nearly drowned out by the radio. The window was cracked so Steve could feel the wind wash over his face. He missed feeling it blow through his hair, but this would have to suffice. It was tremendously freeing being back behind the wheel, and just felt so natural that Steve hardly thought about this morning – or anything else – at all. He purposefully took the long route to extend the feeling just a little bit longer, and Hopper didn’t seem to mind being along for the ride.

  
When Steve finally pulled smoothly into the high school lot and parked, Hopper got out of the vehicle and lit a cigarette to wait on the kids and round them up. None of them had been told they were getting a ride – and from whom – so he needed to catch them before they all scattered.

  
It wasn’t hard. They seemed to never be apart from one another for any significant length of time, and school was no exception. “Hey! You six! Over here!”

  
The group collectively swiveled their heads, searching for the source of the voice. Will was the first to spot him, and his eyes widened in panic. “Hopper. Wh- what are you doing here? Did something happen? Steve?”

  
It hadn’t occurred to him that his presence might send alarm bells screaming through their heads and felt slightly guilty as a result. Hopper quickly stepped away from the passenger door and gestured at the open window. It took a moment for the maroon BMW and its sole occupant to fully register, but when it did the kids’ apprehension melted away and they became ecstatic.

  
“No way,” Lucas shouted at the same time Max uttered an appraisal of her own, “This is so rad.”

  
The relief was evident on Will’s face as El gave her dad a small smile and encircled his waist. Dustin rounded the front of the car and approached his friend enthusiastically. The brotherly handshake they engaged in right before Dustin thrust his upper body through the open window to give Steve an approximation of a hug expressed more than words ever could.

  
“Not to be a downer or anything, but just how in the hell are all of us going to fit in there,” Mike wondered.

  
“Backpacks in the trunk. Then pile in the back. You’re young and flexible. You’ll figure it out,” the chief replied casually. He received puzzled looks in response. “Just climb in and suck it up until we get to the quarry.”

  
“The quarry,” six voices echoed in shock as they clambered into the familiar vehicle.

  
“Yeah, I hope that’s okay.” Steve checked in the rearview mirror that they were all settled as well as they could be with the limited room in the backseat before putting the car in gear and pulling out of the parking lot. “It’s semi-decent out and I’ve been feeling a little cooped up, so I kinda wanna hang outside for a change. We brought food. I know how you all feel about the outdoors, though, so if you don’t want to, it’s cool.”

  
The group shared furtive glances and came to an instantaneous mutual agreement. They would have allowed Steve to lead them traipsing through the raging infernos of Hell itself if it gave him even the most miniscule of shots to enhance his health in some way, be it mentally or physically. In fact, in some respects, he already had done just that.

  
At one time, they had faithfully followed a bleeding and injured Steve with a map clutched tightly beneath his scraped knuckles through the tunnels which were, at the bare minimum, a pit stop in Hell. That excursion completely disregarded his well-being, not having the luxury of making it a priority in favor of saving the world. But in addition to each other, Steve was their world now. So, if this small trip, in contrast, had the possibility to improve his condition even in the slightest, they would push aside their dislike of the outdoors in a heartbeat for Steve’s sake. A simple picnic on the rocky waters was small recompense to pay in exchange for the potential benefit of their friend.

  
“It’s totally cool, buddy. Take us wherever you want to,” Dustin used the front seats to pull himself forward so he could clap Steve on the shoulder.

  
Hopper couldn’t help but flick his eyes to the speedometer out of a habit that was ingrained in him. He had joked earlier with Steve about speeding, and although he suspected the kid wasn’t entirely innocent in that regard, if anything, he was going under the speed limit. And the policeman doubted it had less to do with his condition and more to do with his cargo and the protective bubble he always formed around them.

  
The chief barked out a laugh in disbelief while during a developing argument in the backseat that involved shoving, Steve sternly told them to 'shut up' while flailing his arm in between the shover and the shovee. Much to Hopper’s amusement, he actually used the phrase, 'Don’t make me turn this car around.' Getting a peek into the interactions between Steve and the kids when Steve was in charge was eye-opening, but what was even more stupefying than the older teen’s effortless transition to a more parental role was that the kids genuinely _listened_ – and _smiled_ at him while he yelled at them. “How do you do that?”

  
“Magic,” Steve waggled his eyebrows at him mischievously as he parked the car near the water. “And being their only transportation home helps. I may or may not have threatened to leave them on the side of the rode once or twice.”

  
Hopper thought he had gotten to know Steve pretty well in the last couple years, but every once in awhile the teenager would still pleasantly surprise him. “Genius, kid. Pure genius. I’m impressed.”

  
The crew dispersed and the younger members meandered down to the edge of the water, skipping rocks for the time being. The police chief rescued a couple quilts from the trunk and spread them over the ground that had been sufficiently warmed by the unseasonably temperate mid-afternoon sunshine. He overlapped them in places to provide extra padding and helped Steve lower himself to sit atop the blankets on one of the more cushioned spots, back supported by the cold metal of the passenger door.

  
Hopper scrunched down next to him, digging into his pocket and ignoring the popping of his knees. “You doing alright there, kid?”

  
Steve nodded a little timidly. “I’m okay.”

  
Hopper studied the boy. “I’d buy that a lot more if you didn’t seem so serious all the sudden. Anything on your mind?”

  
“I’m good,” Steve denied unconvincingly.

  
“You positive? ‘Cause you sure look like you have something up there rattling around in that brain of yours,” Hopper observed as he shook free a cigarette. Steve looked longingly at the cellophane package and the cop sighed before holding it out. “I have really got to stop supporting this.”

  
Steve bent his leg and rested the forearm holding the now-lit cigarette on his bony joint, debating internally and taking a couple lazy puffs before speaking. “The doctor’s office called this morning. The results came in and I’m being bumped up to a higher priority on the transplant list.”

  
Hopper mirrored Steve’s pose, exhaling a plume of smoke. “So, you might be able to get the transplant a little sooner? Isn’t that good news?”

  
“In theory. But it really isn’t good news. Actually, it’s pretty terrible news when you take into account the reason _why_ I’m being moved up on the list.” Steve stretched his leg back out, stalling a bit. He had briefly considered keeping the information to himself, but ultimately decided against it, acknowledging to himself that at least Joyce and Hopper needed to be told in spite of any reservations he had about doing so. “The treatments aren’t – well, they’re still not working very well. In fact, things are starting to get worse.”

  
Hopper’s blood ran cold with sick dread. “How much worse are we talking here, kid?”

  
“Remember how the initial goal was to aim for another remission, but after awhile it switched to trying to buy me enough time to find a donor?” Steve paused, but it wasn’t to give Hopper time to answer. The hesitation was more about the sudden guilt he was overcome with at all the disruptions to their lives he continued to cause, but there was no going back now. “Now…now they’re saying…um, they’re not sure how much longer the medicine can keep me going. Even with the more intense chemo, the cancer keeps growing and I’m running out of time, Hop.”

  
“Jesus, kid.” Hopper pulled his other leg up and wrapped his arms around them, resting his forehead on the rough denim. He was loathe to ask the question, but he was no longer in control of his mouth. The compulsive impulse to know overrode any of his other instincts. “How long?”

  
“Without the transplant, not long.” Steve was suddenly transfixed by the glowing end of the cigarette, but he tore his gaze away to meet Hopper’s eyes. “If I don’t find a donor soon, the doctors think it’s unlikely that I will live to see my twentieth birthday.”

  
Hopper’s head dropped back down under the crushing blow, unable to stand the haunting defeat written all over the boy’s face. But there were no glaring, overt displays of emotion. No railing against the unfairness of it all that Steve was more than entitled to. Steve was far too young to be contemplating his own death, and he was far too young to act so composed in the face of something so grave and devastating. “That’s an awful lot of weight to have been carrying alone on your shoulders all day.”

  
Steve hummed. “I suppose. I’m telling you now, though.”

  
Hopper sensed the teenager’s reluctance in telling him and got the impression it was information that he wouldn’t freely share with everyone, but he felt he had to ask. “What about the others?”

  
“Joyce should know.” Steve nodded as if agreeing to a point only he could hear. “Not the kids, though.”

  
Although Steve’s declaration didn’t surprise him, Hopper had mixed feelings about that decision. He understood better than anyone the protective streak that ran through Steve, and this situation kicked in those instincts to shield his younger friends from all the horrors of the world just as much as any other. But he worried that the strain of such a secret would be too much on Steve’s already delicate system, and eventually the truth would come out, and when it did, the kids might resent being kept in the dark. “Steve –“

  
“No, there’s no point. At least right now,” the boy said resolutely. “There’s nothing they can do about it anyway, and knowing will only make them feel bad and worry. Eventually, I know I’ll have to tell them before they figure it out on their own, but it’s almost Christmas. It can wait until after.”

  
Steve still seemed so calm. So stoic. So…accepting. But Hopper knew him well enough by now to figure out it was all an act. The slant of his eyebrows and the shimmering of his hazel irises as he stared off into the distance gave him away. Saying it aloud had solidified his unforgiving reality and gave credence to the notion that the grains of sand were hemorrhaging from his hourglass.

  
Watching Sarah succumb to her illness had been unbearable, but the one thing Hopper had been thankful for was the blissful ignorance that the innocence of childhood provided that allowed her to cling to an unending supply of optimism and hope. As an adult, Steve didn’t have the luxury of indulging in such fantasies - at least for long. He was fully and heartbreakingly aware of his own mortality. He was rudely and blatantly slapped in the face with it every day while still having to find the strength within himself to keep going and not wave the white flag in surrender. Steve endured procedure after procedure and treatment after treatment, refusing to yield to the odds stacked heavily against him and refusing to concede the prospective futility of his battle.

  
Steve’s struggle was a constant and never-ending one. Hopper could see the fight draining out of him at a rapid pace like a battery being depleted of its energy cells with this latest setback. And Jim couldn’t let that happen. He _wouldn’t_. He had told Steve that when he was running on fumes and felt like he had nothing left to fight with, they would all fight for him, and Hopper renewed his dogged determination to do just that. It was inconceivable to him to allow this disease to claim another young life that he had come to love so much. Hopper gathered the boy in his arms, the excess material of the coat that hung loosely off Steve’s narrow shoulders bunched in his oversized hands. “There’s still a possibility that there’s still a match out there for you somewhere, son. Don’t throw in the towel on us and give up hope just yet, okay?”

  
“I won’t. I’m _not_ ,” Steve assured him, punctuating his words with a firm squeeze in return to the one he received. Another thing he appreciated about Hopper was that there were no empty platitudes being offered or false reassurances that everything would be okay when everything was clearly falling to shit. The only thing he wanted was for Steve to not prematurely seal his fate before the final act was written. And that was something he didn’t want for himself, either. “You guys. Hope. That’s about all I have left these days.”

  
“And you do. Have us, you know? We’re here for you however you need us to be,” Hopper drew back and patted Steve affectionately on the thigh.

  
“I know,” Steve smiled at him shakily, but it was still a smile.

  
“I believe there was the promise of some snacks.” Dustin stood before the pair with his arms crossed.

  
Steve blinked in rapid succession as if awakening from a long dream, but nothing could remove him from the nightmare he was consistently mired in. “Yeah. Yeah, they’re in a Tupperware container under my seat.”

  
“Who keeps food next to the gas pedal,” Dustin mock criticized.

  
“ _I_ do. Since the rest of my vehicle was taken up by a herd of nerds and their school supplies.” Dustin just shot him a disapproving look. “Just go get them and keep it zipped, Henderson or you won’t get any. I baked for you people and this is the thanks I get. My cookies are fucking delicious, by the way, so you’d be missing out on something great.”

  
“You’re such a fucking drama queen, Steve. Jesus Christ,” Dustin’s lisp became more prominent with the brotherly banter, but he retrieved the packed dessert and distributed it to the rest of the group without further comment.

  
They munched happily on their sweet treats. Even Steve nibbled at one while Will and El stole glances at one another, until El urged the other boy with her eyes to speak. “So, Steve…El and I were talking, and well, with Christmas coming up and everything…We thought it might be fun to make Christmas cookies. Do you think you could help us and show us how to decorate them?”

  
“S-sure.” Steve was taken aback at first. It was extremely rare for either Will or El to ask anything from him other than his company. It was usually the other four kids who were less than shy about voicing their demands. Living with the boy had shown Steve how gentle and easy-going Will truly was, and how scarce the instances were when he made his desires known. For that reason alone, Steve was easily persuaded to fulfill any request Will set forth. But Steve was also suddenly struck with the morbid, yet desperately burning need to create joyful memories and give them something else to remember him by besides all the darkness they all seemed to be shrouded in, in the event he lost the race against the clock. “I’d be happy to. The decorating’s all you guys, though. It’s not really my thing and you’re by far the most artistic one.”

  
“Deal,” Will beamed brightly at him.

  
Their holiday baking session came two days before Christmas. Steve really wasn’t feeling all that great having spent the majority of the day yesterday after his chemo session with his head in the toilet. He was still very woozy and unbelievably tired to the degree that he consciously had to keep his body from swaying in his seat. And his stomach still revoltingly churned. Steve loaded himself up with as much nausea medicine as he could and willed his body to cooperate as the dough was rolled out and cut into Christmas-themed shapes. He covered his frequent trips to the bathroom and lingering sickness with silly jokes and a constant smile that tightened his jaw and gave him a headache.

  
Steve’s ruse must have worked to some degree because Will and El let themselves be distracted by the difficult task of transferring snowmen and stars and gingerbread men and other Christmas-y designs onto the baking sheet instead of scrutinizing his person for some sign of infirmity. When the last batch finally went into the oven, Steve let his mask slip and sagged onto the couch in relief as Joyce whisked the kids away to procure the sprinkles, icing, colored sugar crystals and whatever else they wanted to decorate with while the cookies cooled.

  
Joyce was still more than reluctant to leave Steve by himself for any length of time, but Jonathan was currently on his way home and should be stepping through the door any minute now. Steve had shooed her out the door with a vow to do nothing except monitor the cookies and park his butt on the sofa, but he had no sooner sat down than he had to get right back up again and get himself to the bathroom in a hurry.

  
Stepping out of the bathroom on shaky legs, Steve once again relied on the hallway walls to steady himself and stabilize his spatial orientation which was increasingly dubious. Reaching the living room and therefore the end of the wall, he took one unbraced step forward and the world began to tilt dangerously. If he could just make it as far as the couch and lie down. A second attempt at another step sent the room spinning ferociously until it turned completely topsy-turvy. It took Steve a full minute to realize it wasn’t the room that had moved at all, but his body, as it met the floor with his cheek flush against the rough carpet.

  
The kitchen timer dinged accusingly at him, and he struggled to get himself vertical so he could get the cookies out of the oven before they burned and filled the house with smoke. The best Steve could manage was to raise himself up on his hands and knees, but he could go no further, lacking any real power behind his movements. He was preparing to attempt crawling when the front door mercifully opened.

  
The very first thing Jonathan noticed was the cloying scent of burnt sugar. The second – and almost simultaneous thing - was Steve on all fours on the living room floor. “Steve!”

  
“I’m fine. I’m not hurt. Just…,” Steve ground out tightly as he shut his eyes against the surge of lightheadedness that crashed into him like a tidal wave. “Could you get the cookies out of the oven before they set off the smoke alarms?”

  
Jonathan gave him a doubtful look, but did as he was asked before rejoining Steve and sliding over next to him on the floor. There was no doubt Steve was embarrassed by the position he was currently in judging by the pink coloring his cheeks, so Jonathan tried to ease the tension a bit. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this, man. Are you able to get up?” Steve shook his head and clenched his eyes even harder to ward off the ongoing dizziness. “What’s wrong? Did you fall?”

  
Steve thought for a brief moment about lying, but what would be the point? Jonathan wouldn’t believe him with all the evidence to the contrary, anyway. “Yeah. Just got sick and got really weak and dizzy all the sudden. It’ll pass. I’m fine.”

  
“You most certainly are not _fine_ ,” Jonathan’s hands fluttered around his friend without touching him, not wanting to cause him any harm and not quite sure what to do. “We should get you checked out.”

  
“No. The anemia sometimes makes me feel like this. That’s nothing new,” Steve sighed tiredly. He seemed like he had more to say on the subject, but his body was quickly prohibiting him from doing so. His jaw ticked as he breathed deeply through his nose, freezing in place.

  
Jonathan always had been a fast learner and had no trouble by now picking up on the subtle clues Steve exhibited when he was on the verge of being sick but actively trying to suppress it. “Do you need a bucket?”

  
It was more of a rhetorical question at this point, and Jonathan didn’t wait for a response before snatching one from under the sink and thrusting it under Steve’s head. It was nearly too late. Steve collapsed onto his elbows and would’ve faceplanted into his own vomit if Jonathan hadn’t reflexively snaked an arm around him and held him up. Steve spluttered out a small, ‘thanks’ when he was finished.

  
Steve pushed himself away, but without the support of Jonathan’s arms, he dropped onto the floor entirely, too weak to even keep himself on his hands and knees. “You can’t even hold yourself up, man. Wanna tell me again how you shouldn’t see a doctor?”

  
“I know how it looks, alright? But this chemo is something else. It’s really kicking my ass, that’s all. You know I’ve been getting transfusions and they do help some. The falling’s only been in the last week or so.” Steve clamped his mouth shut abruptly, not intending for the latter part to leak out, but his defenses were weakened along with his body.

  
“What? This has happened before,” Jonathan was horrified at the confession. “Does my mom know?”

  
“Only a couple of times recently,” Steve poorly attempted some damage control. “And no, she doesn’t. I didn’t tell her because it’s not a big deal.”

  
“Not a big – Steve! How can you say that? If this is something new that’s happening…that keeps happening, that means there’s a problem. And if it’s gotten this bad, you _definitely_ need to go to the hospital,” Jonathan strongly insisted.

  
“No! Please don’t make me,” Steve squeaked out as his eyes widened with growing panic that Jonathan only tangentially understood the reason for. “I don’t want that. All I want is to get off this floor.”

  
Steve wasn’t able to help with the process as much as he wanted to. It was an awkward angle, so Jonathan half-carried and half-dragged the other boy to the sofa and made him as comfortable as possible, but he wasn’t going to allow that to divert from the other pressing matter at hand. Jonathan continued to push for Steve to seek proper medical attention. “You _need_ a hospital, Steve,” he reiterated.

  
“I have a transfusion scheduled for the day after Christmas. I can hold out ‘til then. If I go now, I know they’ll keep me there and I don’t want to spend my la-,“ Steve cut himself off and swallowed hard. He blinked furiously to prevent the gathering tears from spilling over. He was angry at himself for almost letting it slip in his desperation.

  
A painful epiphany at what was left unspoken blindsided Jonathan and he grabbed Steve’s hand to keep them both from flying apart. “Please, Jonathan. I don’t want to spend Christmas in the hospital.” Steve turned his head towards him, his eyes silently pleading, darkened by frantic anguish and boring into Jonathan’s very soul. “ _Please_.”

  
Against his better judgement, Jonathan agreed. He was almost positive of what Steve had stopped himself from saying. Flashbacks of the conversation he had with his mom when he had come home for Thanksgiving played on a loop in his head. It had been a distinct possibility before, but the way Steve talked now, it was almost a certainty. Something had transpired in the interim.

  
Jonathan tried to put it out of his mind as he cleaned up. Somehow, he was able to get Steve back into his bed before his mom and the kids got home. He had explained to Will and El that the older boy was napping, worn out from the activities. They had swallowed it whole-heartedly, but his mom was more suspicious of the seemingly abrupt change in Steve’s state.

  
Joyce had pulled her son aside, away from younger, prying ears. “Was today too much for him? Did something happen?”

  
“He’s still pretty sick from yesterday,” Jonathan said simply, not exactly lying but not offering up any other information, either. “If you don’t mind overseeing the decorating part, I’ll keep an eye on him tonight.”

  
His mom eyed him warily, still unconvinced she was getting the full story, but stuttered out an, “Okay.”

  
There was no way in hell Jonathan was going to allow Steve to attempt to get out of bed tonight – even with his help – so he gathered up some supplies and headed into the other boy’s bedroom. He dutifully held the bucket with one hand while rubbing Steve’s back with the other as he retched each time.

  
It was the wee hours of Christmas Eve morning before there seemed to be a significant lull in the sickness. Steve lay on his side, staring blankly at the darkened window, utterly spent and still a little disoriented. “It’s Christmas Eve, isn’t it?”

  
“Yeah, I guess technically it is.”

  
“Well, Merry Christmas Eve, then.” Those were a couple of the only sentences Steve had spoken since Jonathan had first gotten home and he had vehemently protested against going to the hospital. Maybe it was an indication he was willing to talk now.

  
“Merry Christmas Eve, Steve,” Jonathan began tentatively, deciding to take a chance. “Earlier you started to say something, but you cut yourself off. What you were about to say…what you implied…is it true? Are you sure?”

  
“Yeah,” Steve admitted, voice wavering softly. “It’s true. The doctors have given me an expiration date.”

  
Jonathan sat timidly on the edge of the bed in disbelief. It was one thing when the assumption in his head was just that – an assumption that could still be disproved, but the thin veil of denial he was tenuously cloaking himself in was swiftly coming unraveled the more Steve spoke. He knew the answer to his next question would remove any remaining doubt that he had allowed himself to hide from the truth behind. “What exactly do you mean by ‘expiration date’?”

  
Steve rolled over and regarded Jonathan sadly and apologetically, almost if he were the one experiencing a prematurely finite timeline and not Steve. “It means that – it means that, I don’t have very long left without the transplant.”

  
“But you could still find a donor,” Jonathan fiercely clung to a thread of hope.

  
“Technically…yes, but they haven’t had any potential matches so far. And soon it might be too late,” Steve found a sudden interest in his fingers overlapped on his chest.

  
“How soon is ‘soon’, Steve?” Jonathan searched the other boy’s face, leaning over him and forcing him to look him in the eyes.

  
“A couple months. Maybe a few if I’m lucky,” Steve whispered brokenly.

  
“Jesus, Steve. I’m so sorry.” Jonathan raked his hands through his hair, a nervous habit more attributed to Steve, as his eyes involuntarily filled up. “Is there anything I can do?”

  
Steve cleared his throat to rid himself of the tears that stuck and burned there. “If you could keep this to yourself for awhile. Your mom knows. And Hopper. But the kids…I don’t want them to know yet. I don’t want them to know until I can’t hide it anymore. And certainly not before Christmas is over.”

  
A small sob escaped before Jonathan could bite down on his lip to stem it at Steve’s heartbreaking statement. Everything had come into strikingly sharp focus and he placed a hand over Steve’s folded ones in commiseration. “I understand.” And Jonathan did understand. He understood why Steve hadn’t been more forthcoming, at first. The altruistic motives behind keeping it a secret. The resistance to being put back in the hospital that could do very little for him except stall the inevitable without one very important component in his equation. The almost pathological need to do things with the kids at his own expense. All of it.

  
Jonathan succeeded in holding it in until Steve fell into a fitful slumber, but once he was sure the other boy was asleep, he slipped into the bathroom across the hall and wept bitterly into his sleeve, muffling the noise as much as he could.

  
Joyce must have been coming to check on Steve in the night because there was a soft knock at the door Jonathan had left cracked so he could keep an ear out in case the other teenager needed him. It opened slowly and Joyce winced in sympathy at Jonathan’s distraught face. “He told you, didn’t he?”

  
Jonathan could only nod, his emotions still leaking freely out of his eyes.

  
Joyce crouched down and took him in her arms, gently rocking him and soothing him as best as she could under the circumstances. “Oh, baby. I’m so sorry. It’s going to be okay.”

  
“No, it’s not. I knew as soon as I got home it wasn’t,” Jonathan gulped. “He had fallen and…he’s so _weak_ , Mom.”

  
Joyce gasped quietly at that revelation but continued to hold her son tightly as he only cried harder. “We have to be strong for him while they keep searching for a donor. We have to _believe_ that we’ll get that call and he’ll find one before it’s too late.”

  
Her words were meant to be comforting, but they were small consolation given the context. Jonathan probably looked as helpless and as lost as he felt over the next day and a half as he clumsily hovered near Steve whenever his mom or Hopper weren’t doing so. He could think of nothing else constructive to do besides catching Steve when he stumbled or fetching a glass of water.

  
Steve patiently bore all their fussing and didn’t argue when the three conspired to force him to rest before all the other kids and their families joined them on Christmas Day for one gigantic dinner. It didn’t hurt that Will complained he was tired, too and retired to Steve’s room with him to watch a Christmas special.

  
Jonathan anxiously chopped celery and onions for the stuffing that Steve wrote out the specifications for while he waited for the others to arrive. They had all agreed to dinner being more of a potluck style, making each family responsible for certain dishes to try to keep Steve out of the kitchen and from overextending himself which is why Jonathan was currently in charge of the stuffing. He was the only person Steve trusted to, as he put it, “get it at least half-way right.”

  
An idea had sprouted in Jonathan’s head overnight that he was still trying to iron out the details for. Frankly, he could use Nancy’s invaluable input, but he debated on whether involving her was a betrayal of Steve’s trust or not. Steve had only explicitly said that he didn’t want the kids to know the urgency of his condition, never mentioning Nancy. One could argue that it was heavily implied, but Jonathan talked himself into taking advantage of the small loophole.

  
Jonathan was enormously relieved when she walked through the door, early as usual. He could barely let her shrug her coat off before cornering her and whisking her away to the bathroom, the only place in the small house that afforded some privacy away from any potentially eavesdropping ears.

  
“Ooh, Jonathan. Romantic. I don’t see any mistletoe in here, but…” Nancy linked her arms behind his neck, but when he didn’t respond to her flirting, she stepped back and furrowed her brow in worry. “What’s wrong?”

  
Jonathan slid his hands down her arms and took her hands in his. “Before I tell you, you have to promise to keep it to yourself, alright? It’s important. I’m serious.”

  
“O-okay,” she stammered, growing more alarmed by the second.

  
“How do you feel about activism?”

  
“What?” She was clearly confused, and he couldn’t blame her.

  
Jonathan relayed the events that had occurred since he had arrived home, not leaving out a single disheartening detail or the painful truth Steve had subsequently revealed to him. He watched Nancy’s face morph from bemused puzzlement to devastation, slowly crumpling in on itself under the weight of her sorrow as she processed what it all meant and how little time Steve really had left.

  
He laid out his thoughts about not solely relying on the doctors to find a donor but pursuing one themselves. “Couldn’t we do a blood drive or something like they did when we were in school? One that also looks for a match for Steve at the same time? I mean, I know a lot of people in Hawkins were tested, but maybe more would come forward. And we could do it at college, too. I can’t sit back and just watch him die and not do anything, Nance. Not if there was something I could do to help. I don’t think I could take that.”

  
Nancy’s eyes watered and her lips quivered as she reached up to cup his cheek. “I think it’s a brilliant idea, Jonathan. I don’t know how it works, but we can find out. I’ll do whatever I can.”

  
“Just remember, you can’t say anything. Don’t let on that you know. It’s really important to Steve that the kids don’t find out yet,” Jonathan reminded her.

  
It was one of the most difficult things she had ever done, to look Steve in the eye and pretend that she didn’t see the signs that he was gradually slipping away bit by bit. To put on a brave face in front of the kids and match his abundant smiles and laughs with her own. To watch her parents and the Sinclairs and Claudia Henderson greet him with a tight squeeze and peck on the cheek, blissfully ignorant of the brewing storm in his blood. She wanted to scream and yell at them all to savor every moment and every touch because before long he would be ripped cruelly away from them.

  
Instead, she bit down so hard on her tongue that she drew blood, and glared daggers at the phone, trying to command it telepathically to come to life. Nancy had noticed that Hopper, Mrs. Byers, and Jonathan had all been stealing wistful glances at the phone all evening, too as if they were all half-expecting it to ring, rescuing Steve from his tragic fate like some sort of cliché Christmas miracle. But the phone stayed deafeningly silent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> September is Leukemia and blood cancer awareness month. Today (9/22) is World CML Day, so I guess it's a bit poetic that I was able to post this part today. It's interesting why this numerical date was chosen if you feel like looking it up. I found out last week I'm good for another couple months, so cheers! I wish you all good health, too!


	16. Bury Me in All My Favorite Colors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some hard realities are confronted as Steve's health continues to decline even further, but a phone call might change the course of things. Nothing is for certain and Steve's survival isn't necessarily a guarantee, but it's a chance he'll have to take. Only time will tell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this chapter took so long to get up, but hopefully it was worth the wait. These last couple weeks have been rough, so I really appreciate the encouragement and support I've gotten with this story. Like I've said to a couple people on here, I really do love the comments because I love interacting personally with people and hearing your thoughts! TW for discussion of heavy subject matters and fairly graphic descriptions of illness and side effects. As always, happy reading and I really hope everyone is staying healthy out there - both mentally and physically! Take care of yourselves!

The small dwelling that was usually teeming with peals of laughter and shrieks of delight that seemed to echo well into the dead of night, the warm happiness overflowing and easily spilling into the darkness, had fallen unnaturally hushed and still in recent weeks, almost ominously so. Even the daylight could not drive back the shadows that constantly eclipsed the usually bright and cheerful home as of late. There had been a notable shift after Christmas, and Steve knew he was solely to blame for the somber air that engulfed this once lively place and submerged it like the beaches in high tide.

  
Steve had been accurate in his supposition that as soon as the medical team had the opportunity to thoroughly examine him that he would be admitted back into the hospital at once. For a solid week after Christmas he was pumped full of every blood product imaginable, ringing in the New Year with a double dose of platelets streaming into him while his family stayed long past visiting hours and well into 1987 to keep him company.

  
Nancy had to return to school the day before he was officially discharged, and although she had managed to restrain her tears until after she was safely out of Steve’s earshot during all the previous ‘goodbyes’, it was a feat she absolutely could not muster up the fortitude to accomplish when weighed down by the sobering and crushing knowledge that Steve would more likely than not depart from this Earth before she could make it back home again. The broken-down and poorly functioning shell that he inhabited wouldn’t be able to sustain him much longer. And as unfathomable as losing Steve was, the prospect of not being here for him in his final moments was somehow even worse. Nancy wept bitterly into the hollow between his neck and shoulder while she professed how much she always loved him as he embraced her and returned the sentiment until Jonathan gently pulled her away at Steve’s obvious distress.

  
Jonathan suggested that maybe they shouldn’t burden Steve with their complicated emotions when he was so ill and had plenty of his own to deal with, and instead focus on what they hoped to achieve in an impossibly short span of time. Nancy was reasonable and saw the validity of his statement, but it didn’t stop her from pressing a chaste, yet tender kiss to Steve’s dry and peeling lips in a last farewell and lingering in the doorway just a little longer to commit the face to memory that was so familiar and so much a part of her life – and her heart - for probably the last time.

  
Steve frowned and raised his eyebrows questioningly, but Jonathan didn’t fully explain until the next day, after he had practically lifted Steve out of the passenger seat of Joyce’s car and assisted him inside, moving sluggishly to appease the persistent weakness in the other boy’s feeble limbs. Only then did Jonathan divulge the plan that he and Nancy had concocted to generate blood donors – and a potential match for their friend.

  
Spearheading a blood drive that aimed to recruit not only blood donors but bone marrow donors, as well, was a large undertaking and a very touching gesture. It was one that Steve was sure would benefit someone else in the long run, although he didn’t hold out much hope for himself. He couldn’t allow himself to. It was too painful to even entertain the notion, so he just…didn’t. He thanked Jonathan with a sad smile and endured the choked-up goodbye he received the next day.

  
The nights like this were the hardest to bear. When the loneliness and insomnia set in. Practically chained to the bed at this point, tethered there by his poor excuse for a body, Steve found himself often overcome with fatigue so powerful that he would drift off at the drop of a hat during the day, but conversely found himself staring blankly into the never-ending darkness when he should be sleeping. Although it wasn’t the primary reason for his wakefulness, his intense discomfort was certainly a contributing factor. The sensation of hundreds of splinters of tiny glass shards repetitively piercing his bones seemed to be amplified in the space between the sun’s fall and rise in the sky.

  
The creaking of the door was so faint that had Steve actually been asleep, it would not have disturbed him. As it were, it immediately captured his attention. The figure behind the door flinched back when he realized there were eyes staring back at him expectantly. “Steve, why aren’t you sleeping?”

  
“I could ask you the same thing, Dusty,” Steve countered.

  
“Will fell asleep during our movie. I tried after it was over, but I couldn’t,” Dustin shrugged and took a tentative step into the room. “And I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  
“Yeah, I’m okay. You can get back to your sleepover or whatever. You don’t have to worry.” Steve turned up his lips in what he hoped was a convincing smile, but Dustin stayed rooted to his spot. “What is it, buddy?”

  
“It’s just…,” Dustin started uncertainly, crossing an arm over his body and gripping the elbow of the opposite arm with that hand, shaking his head all the while as if refuting something. “You know, not worrying about you isn’t an option. It’s a ridiculous thing to say because I’m going to always do that. After everything, we all are! Whether you’re completely healthy or still getting treatment or…”

  
Steve paused the escalating rant to beckon the younger boy over to the bedside. He tugged on Dustin’s hand until he sat down. “I know and I’m sorry. But everything’s-“

  
“Fine,” Dustin scoffed. “Please don’t tell me there’s no basis for my worry. I’m not crazy and I’m not stupid. And I have eyes. I’ve seen how Hopper and Mrs. Byers have been hovering over you lately and how you…how weak…Just don’t okay? I overheard Nancy and Jonathan talking a couple weeks ago before they left…You’re not getting better, are you? And don’t lie to me because you think I’d be better off not knowing. Because I won’t be.”

  
Steve opened and closed his mouth several times, beginning to offer a meager, false attempt at disputing the obvious, but it would amount to nothing more than an exercise in futility because Dustin – and maybe the other kids – had clearly figured it out. Any protests he might’ve formed would lack substance and only serve to insult Dustin’s intelligence. Instead, he sighed heavily through his nose and cast his gaze downwards, muttering softly, “Then I won’t lie to you.”

  
Dustin shifted closer on the bed and gripped Steve’s hand hard, his eyebrows nearly meeting halfway up his forehead, drawn together in despair. “Steve…why wouldn’t you…Suddenly everything Nancy and Jonathan said makes sense. That’s your only shot, isn’t it? And soon you won’t even have that, will you?”

  
The sorrow bubbled up from his gut, taking a detour through his heart, and finally settling as a lump in his throat that threatened to choke him. Steve had succeeded in discussing his plight with Hopper with a sort of clinical detachment, and even managed to keep a tenuous reign over his emotions with Jonathan, but somehow revealing the awful truth out loud to the person that he was probably closest to in the whole world – technically a child, no less – and watching his face change from innocent and tranquil to troubled and devastated stripped him metaphorically bare and uncorked the bottle that he had been able to keep tightly tucked away and hermetically sealed until now.

  
The lone, fat tear that escaped and raced down Steve’s cheek before being angrily brushed away was all the response Dustin needed. Dustin looped his arms around his friend’s torso, the action facilitated by the mountain of pillows Steve was propped upon. Dustin could feel the other teen’s breathing hitch as he pressed the side of his head to Steve’s chest. “Don’t do that, Steve. Don’t hold it in. It’s a terrible thing that’s happening to you, and you’re allowed to be upset about it. I’ve told you all this before; you don’t have to be strong all the time. It’s our turn to be strong for you.”

  
It was true. Dustin had said something very similar to him at the beginning of his first battle, and it was obviously worth repeating because the words had just as big of an impact on Steve now as they did then. Dustin had called him out for his repressive behavior. Behavior that bordered on denial, but masqueraded under the guise of protective instincts, and it had struck a chord. It resonated in his soul and reverberated around his skull until the mirage of composure exploded like a glass when the right note was hit. Steve blinked long and slow, feeling the wetness saturate his lashes at this realization. With some difficulty, he swallowed it back down, prepared to disclose something he hadn’t even admitted to himself before. “I um, sleep so much during the day because I can’t let myself at night. That’s why I’m still up. I can’t stand the thought of it. I’m afraid – I’m afraid that if I close my eyes at night, that one day – one day I won’t wake up again.”

  
The confession whispered into Dustin’s curls shattered any residual illusion of stoicism either of them possessed. At first, it seeped out of him like a slow leak, building to a critical level behind the dam until Steve had no other alternative but to let go. He was the first to do so, silent drops cascading down, and Dustin followed right behind his friend, both pouring out their shared despair quietly onto one another’s shoulders.

  
“Oh, Steve,” Dustin breathed out his lament. There was nothing else he could possibly say that would make the situation any better or allay Steve’s heartbreakingly valid fears, so he just clutched his friend tighter around the middle.

  
The pair lay in that position, letting the anguish overtake them and ooze from their very pores as they continued to cling to one another to stay grounded. Positively drained from the strain of it all, they eventually fell asleep next to one another, mid-cry. And that’s how Will found them the next morning, having gone in search of Dustin upon seeing his empty sleeping bag. Will wasn’t offended at being deserted in the middle of the night. If anything, he was relieved. He could hear Steve shifting restlessly every night from across the hall, and Will could only guess which unseen tortures were preventing him from getting any real rest. Maybe the company had finally helped. But not just any company – Dustin’s in particular. The two had a special bond that was undeniable.

  
Will let them be and decided to call his brother to pass the time. Jonathan had wanted to stay in even closer contact lately in the interest of keeping tabs on Steve. Will never questioned his request because as hard as it was to witness the daily battle, not being here would be even worse and give him the same insurmountable anxiety that both Nancy and Jonathan must be feeling.

  
“Hey bro,” Jonathan greeted when he was finally able to pick up the line. “How are you?”

  
“I’m good. How are you? How’s it going in the big city,” Will asked cheerfully.

  
“Oh, you know. Good. Busy, but good,” Jonathan replied.

  
Jonathan had confided a little in Will about the endeavor he and Nancy were passionately undertaking at their respective colleges, just not the full reasoning behind it. Will admired his brother and his girlfriend for springing into action with the intent to enlist blood donors - and possibly even willing bone marrow donors - that could benefit not only Steve, but patients like him. It was the sort of constructive thing Will wished he and his friends could be doing. “How’s your project coming?”

  
“Better than I expected, honestly. Nancy and I both got permission from the universities and were able to make arrangements with local donation centers. It’s happening so fast, luckily. Next week. We just need to get the word out and hope people show up.”

  
“They will. I know it,” Will encouraged enthusiastically. “What you’re doing is an amazing thing!”

  
“Thanks. It doesn’t feel like enough, though,” Jonathan admitted, the initial joy bleeding out of the conversation rapidly. “How is – how is Steve?”

  
There was a lengthy pause on the other end of the phone as if his brother was wrestling with what to say. “Not – not good,” Will finally said reluctantly. “He fell again yesterday. Even getting around the house anymore is almost impossible for him. He needs lots of help, and – and Mom’s great and tries her best, but even she can’t fix this. She has to make him use a wheelchair when she or Hopper take him to chemo now. Steve hates it and it…makes him…it makes him really sad.”

  
Jonathan absorbed it all and had no adequate response. Will was right. As fierce and wonderful as she was, their _mom_ couldn’t fix this. _Will_ couldn’t. _He_ couldn’t. They were doing everything in their power, but in the end none of them could really do a damn thing except watch helplessly as Steve succumbed little by little to his illness. In the silence that stretched between them, he sensed Will had more to add, so he refrained from speaking.

  
“And – and he’s always hurting, and there’s nothing we can do to stop it or make him feel better. The pain’s getting so bad now, it’s almost unbearable for him.” Will swallowed thickly, his mind conjuring up an image of his frantic mother rocking and soothing the boy as best as she could only a few short nights ago as he wailed uncontrollably, at the mercy of the abject agony he could no longer suppress with the medications and distractions alone. It reminded Will of the night after Steve tried to take them for ice cream the year before, and how powerless they all felt in the midst of his attack. “Is it as bad as I think it is, Jonathan?”

  
Remembering his oath to Steve, Jonathan chose not to directly answer the question. There was nothing Will could gain from the knowledge, anyway, except more heartache. Instead, Jonathan deflected, focusing on what Will _could_ do. “Just help Mom look after him. Make sure Steve has whatever he needs, okay?”

  
“I will,” Will promised. “Goodbye, Jonathan.”

  
“Bye, buddy.”

  
Will certainly wasn’t the strongest in the group, but he did whatever he could to pitch in, including opening his house for group sleepovers every weekend in the immediate future so they would be readily available for whatever assistance was required and Steve could, at the very least, be surrounded by the love of his friends when nothing else could be done for him except being present.

  
Fortunately, his mom was more than amenable to that suggestion, and it came in handy only a couple Sundays later. Hopper usually did most of the heavy lifting, but he was tied up on that particular day that Steve was failing to fend off the twisting, gnawing aches that were seeping deep into his joints and taking up unrelenting residence there, desperately needing to get out of bed to try to relieve the pressure on them. Moving him to the couch was not an option in his shape, so Joyce had come up with a solution that involved the kids rearranging the furniture.

  
They removed the spare desk and chair from underneath the bedroom window and replaced it with the plushest armchair the living room had to offer so Steve could be cradled in its soft cushions. The extra padding was important because Steve lacked very little of his own currently, and any hard surface he came in contact with now caused his bones to grind painfully against it as a result.

  
Every movement that Steve made elicited a muted hiss or a wince, Joyce reflexively mirroring his expression in sympathy. His footfalls weren’t so much sure and purposeful steps, but more of a tentative and barely effective shuffling, as if his legs were filled with lead and too heavy to maneuver properly. “That’s it, just take it slow. You’re doing great, sweetheart.”

  
It was a painstaking process, but finally Steve was gingerly deposited in the chair. Joyce wedged a pillow behind him before she leaned him back against it. Max produced a blanket and helped swath him in it as the other kids set up one of their campaigns on the floor. Steve was always freezing these days and his hat had reemerged as an ever-present accessory, not as a product of his vanity but out of necessity for his warmth.

  
The telephone reverberated shrilly throughout the house. On a Sunday, it was likely one of only two people – Hopper or Jonathan. Joyce glanced indecisively between the open door and the boy before her. “You should probably answer that. I’m okay. Really.”

  
“I’ll be right back,” she gave him a brief pat on the arm before rising from her crouch.

  
Joyce was gone for a prolonged length of time, and Steve just figured it was Jonathan on the other end who was surprisingly much more of a talker than he first appeared. Mike was fully immersed into his role as Dungeon Master by the time the petite woman returned. “Could you guys – could you give me and Steve a few minutes, please?”

  
“Mom?”

  
“It’s alright. I just need to talk to Steve.” It was highly unusual for Joyce to dismiss the kids in such a fashion. The unfolding seriousness of the matter was further reflected by the absence of any sort of term of endearment that Joyce would normally use to address her sons, and only served to stoke the fires of everyone’s worry even more.

  
The kids obeyed, floating out into the hall in a baffled and concerned daze. Joyce waited until the door clicked shut softly before situating herself on the ottoman that Steve’s legs were listlessly propped upon and beginning to speak. “That was the doctor’s office. They want me to bring you to the hospital tomorrow morning for some tests.”

  
Steve’s eyes welled up involuntarily at this revelation, and he averted his gaze out the window. The thought of subjecting his battered body to anymore poking and prodding at this stage left him utterly bereft. He didn’t know how much more he could take. The weariness wholly consumed him, and he was so done with it all. Steve gave a small shake of his head before letting it drop back against the headrest dejectedly. “I don’t – I don’t think I can do it again. It’s too much and – and there’s no point anymore.”

  
Joyce bent forward and slid her hand around the one laying limply in his lap. “Oh, honey. I understand. I do.” It drove a knife through her heart to see Steve so despondent and so defeated. He was so close to the end of this horrendous ordeal, and she prayed that he could find just a little more strength to get through the next few weeks. She stroked up and down his arm with one hand, still holding onto his hand with the other. Her voice trembled. “I know you’re exhausted. I can see just how tired you really are, sweetheart but trust me, it’s important so the doctors can make sure you are still able to withstand the process.”

  
Steve whipped his head around, startled and confused and not daring to believe what she was insinuating. “What?”

  
“Steve…baby…Everything’s going to be okay, now. _You’re_ going to be okay.” The mother had to pause to gather herself, tilting her head and scrunching her shoulders to beat back the moisture that pooled in her eyes. Joyce directed a waterlogged smile at the boy that felt like every bit of her biological son as Will and Jonathan. She reached out and cupped Steve’s face tenderly in her loving hands, squeezing a bit for emphasis as she broke the long-awaited news to him through her poorly contained stream of happy tears. “They found a match for you. There’s a compatible donor available as soon as you can be prepped for it. Sweetheart…it’s finally happened. You’re gonna _get your chance_.”

  
Steve stared at her dumbfounded and in disbelief for a solid minute before realization bloomed in his eyes and nearly two years of emotions flitted across his shrunken features in a split second. His lips wobbled with the sheer force of trying to get his next sentence out coherently. “You mean…I’m not gonna d-…I’m gonna – I’m gonna _live?"_

  
If Joyce’s heart wasn’t already teetering on the brink of an emotional abyss, Steve’s tentatively hopeful and poignant question sent it plummeting into the depths below. She embraced him tightly, feeling his shoulders stuttering up and down with increasing frequency beneath her fingertips. “Yes, sweetheart. The worst is almost over now and you’re gonna make it through. I _know_ you will.”

  
The sobs burst out of him then, unrestrained, and Joyce just held on to the boy that had been barely holding on for dear life with everything he had – a strength of will that had been decreasing at an alarming rate with each passing day. She let him pour out everything that had been pent up and largely unreleased for weeks onto her chest, having sent the kids out of the room to grant Steve the grace to freely express his emotions like he so richly deserved without feeling like he had to edit them or stuff them down in a valiant attempt to be brave for the kids’ sake. He was much too worn out and too brittle – too sick – for that anymore, but it hadn’t stopped him from doing it, anyway.

  
Torn between respecting Steve’s privacy and their ongoing concern for his state, the kids compromised and lingered down the hallway, not straying too far but not in too close proximity, either. Dustin kept a sharp ear out and maintained a watchful eye on the door to immediately pick up on the slightest hint of distress.

  
Hearing Steve’s muffled cries filter through the door was something akin to seeing the Bat Signal for Dustin. He marched down the hallway purposefully, hand hovering just above the doorknob when Lucas stepped in front of him and physically blocked his way. “I don’t know what’s going on in there, man, but whatever it is, Mrs. Byers asked us to leave them alone. So, we should listen.”

  
“He’s upset. Can’t you hear that? I’m not going to stand out here with my thumb up my ass when I could be doing something to help,” Dustin reached for the doorknob again, but was once more thwarted by his steadfast friend. “Move it, Lucas. I’m serious.”

  
“No, Lucas is right,” Will defended. “My Mom wouldn’t have kicked us out without good reason.”

  
“Maybe so,” Max conceded, crossing her arms. “But I’m with Dustin on this one. It isn’t very often that we see Steve this upset. In fact, it’s pretty rare considering. Something pretty terrible must be happening to cause all this and I, for one, don’t want to stand by and do nothing.”

  
Dustin didn’t have the heart to correct her that Steve’s breakdowns weren’t quite as infrequent as she thought. He was just choosy about exactly whom he allowed to view that very well-hidden part of himself. Dustin had witnessed a very raw moment of honesty the other night – and it hadn’t been the first time. He knew he was one of the only privileged and trusted few that Steve allowed himself to be vulnerable around and dared to show that side of himself to.

  
“Of course, something terrible is happening. It’s _been_ happening,” Mike exclaimed hotly, but quickly pulled back his tone. “But yeah, I agree, it’s worse than usual. Obviously, the phone call had something to do with it, but Mrs. Byers has it covered, right? El, maybe you could-“

  
“No. I won’t spy,” El frowned disapprovingly at her boyfriend for even suggesting such a thing. “Private.”

  
The six kids stared each other down, holding a silent argument with their eyes. Too preoccupied with each other, no one noticed when the sounds from inside the room dwindled and ceased altogether until the door swung open and Mrs. Byers stuck her head out. “Would one of you mind getting a glass of ice water? Oh, and a straw. Thanks,” she said before closing the door again.

  
“I got it,” Lucas disappeared down the hallway to fulfill the request. When he came back, he nodded at Dustin who squared his shoulders and eagerly knocked on the door.

  
Mrs. Byers reopened it, accepting the glass and straw from Lucas. She beamed at them the entire time which was eerily strange and in direct opposition to the noises that had previously manifested from within. “I’m sure you’re all wondering what that was all about. You can come in now.”

  
They all scanned Steve anxiously, searching for any trace of the turmoil that had emanated from this space only moments before. His eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, but the lines normally etched into his face were smoothed out and he seemed more relaxed and less bothered than he’d been in months. Mrs. Byers slid the straw into his mouth and patiently waited for him to take a few sips before placing it to the side.

  
“Are you okay, Steve,” Dustin finally asked the question he’d been dying to have answered and was at the forefront of everyone’s minds.

  
“Come ‘ere.” Steve flopped a hand over the edge of the chair for Dustin to take hold of, grinning goofily at the younger boy and setting him at ease at once. “I’m good. Better than good. Best I’ve been in a long time, actually.”

  
“Sorry about all the secrecy. I didn’t mean to worry you all, but I thought Steve deserved to hear the news privately first,” Joyce partially explained, rubbing Steve’s shoulder supportively as she did so. She didn’t elaborate on the reasons _why_ she preferred to tell him without an audience present, to afford him the opportunity for catharsis that he never permitted himself to indulge in, but greatly needed. That was information she would keep to herself.

  
Will looked between his Mom and Steve. “Wh – what news? What’s going on?”

  
Joyce and Steve exchanged a look of their own before he raised his hand up to cover her smaller one that continued to massage soothing circles onto the curve of his neck, wordlessly communicating to her his consent to tell the others. “Tomorrow morning, I’ll be taking Steve to the hospital to undergo some tests. When the phone rang, well, see…that was – that was the doctor’s office. They, well, wanted Steve to -“

  
Steve saw the kids’ disquiet reemerging and blossoming into full-blown panic, understandably misinterpreting Joyce’s less than direct and stumbling manner of revealing the news, so he hurriedly took over. “Guys! It was _the_ phone call. The one I’ve been hoping for.”

  
“Wait. Are you for real,” Max scrutinized the adults for some indication that they were somehow messing with them, but this was something Steve and Mrs. Byers would never, ever toy with their emotions or kid about. Slowly it sunk in and registered that they were completely sincere. “No joke? _The_ phone call?”

  
Steve’s eyes sparkled with a light that had been missing for way too long. “No joke, Max. I’m finally getting that transplant.”

  
“Yep. They were able to find Steve a match,” Joyce confirmed as she stepped out of the way, six kids barely restraining themselves from rushing their friend all at once in celebration.

  
The room buzzed with a mixture of pleasant astonishment and relief and nervous excitement. The kids bounced exuberantly around the room, gesturing wildly as they fired off questions at Steve who fielded them as best as he could in between congratulatory hugs and pats on the back. The joy was contagious and Joyce was more than willing to let them revel indefinitely in the happiness that had been in all too short supply these days, but El interrupted the triumphant moment with a tug on her flannel shirt, introducing an extremely valid point. “Dad?”

  
“Wait. No one’s told the Chief yet,” Lucas threw up his hands in exasperation as if he wasn’t just as guilty of not thinking about it first.

  
Joyce’s eyes widened and she rushed out of the room when she realized that, in the chaos, she had neglected that one very important detail. She just hoped Hopper would forgive her the oversight and subsequent delay.

  
“He’s gonna shit when he hears,” Mike’s voice trailed off as he followed a remorseful Joyce and his girlfriend to the phone.

  
“I’m really happy for you, Steve,” Will gave another brief and gentle hug to the older boy who thanked him in return.

  
“Me too,” Max gave him another squeeze of her own. “But honestly, you look like you’ve had enough for today. We should let you rest. C’mon Stalker.” Lucas rolled his eyes and shared an amused look with Steve before slapping his hand and following her and Will out of the room. Will was animatedly reminding his mother not to forget to call Jonathan and Nancy, too as he jetted down the hall.

  
Dustin’s smile stretched wider and wider, until his lips were drawn halfway up his cheeks as he studied Steve with a sort of jubilant adoration. The exhilaration and relief were predominant, edging out the undercurrent of fear that had been a constant companion, but not erasing it entirely. It was still there, lurking in the depths, an unwelcome intruder in the back of his mind. Overcome with the intensity of his swirling emotions, Dustin launched himself at his friend without preamble, causing Steve to rock backwards against the cushions with the force of the hug. “I really thought I was gonna lose you this time, Steve.”

  
Steve returned the embrace as tightly as he could which wasn’t very hard, to be honest. “Hey. Me too.” They were the only two left in the room, but Steve’s voice still dropped to a near whisper as if he were divulging a shameful secret. “But everything’s going to be okay now. I’ll be able to sleep again without – I won’t hafta be scared anymore, Dusty.”

  
“You mean, _we_ won’t have to be scared anymore,” Dustin corrected, pushing aside his own conflicting inclinations to give Steve the reassurance he was subconsciously seeking and needed to have provided in that moment. “Don’t forget, we’re all in this together, and if _you’re_ scared then _we’re_ scared with you, too.”

  
“Everything’s going to be okay,” Steve repeated. “I’m going to make it.”

  
“Yeah, you are!” Dustin stated emphatically. He truly and wholeheartedly meant his words – or, at least, he _wanted_ to mean them. He wanted so badly to echo Steve’s sentiment with complete conviction that from now on that things were going to be just fine – _Steve_ was going to be just fine - but he couldn’t quite bring himself to fully believe that just yet. There was the same doubting voice, the same prickling sensation in the back of his brain that Dustin had had when Steve first went into remission. The one that screamed out that it wasn’t so simple.

  
It was the news that all their hopes and prayers and wishes had been spent on. It was an enormously fantastic and amazing gift that Steve had been given to have the chance to survive and beat cancer for a second time. Of course, it was! But it was just that – a chance. Nothing was set in stone and there were no guarantees. The road ahead would be very long and difficult. There was just no way of knowing if the road was vast with no end in sight, stretching extensively out before him and filled with good health and dreams and a lifetime of happiness, or if it led into a deep, dark chasm, dropping off and ending cruelly and abruptly after a painfully short distance. But at least there was the opportunity for more road to travel, at all. And for now, it was all they could ask for. It would have to be enough.

  
Even though the next night was a Monday night, the kids still insisted Robin bring them to the Byers’ place after school so they could check on Steve and see how the tests went. The house stood empty and dark when they arrived, and it was almost past dinnertime before Joyce and Hopper finally returned with Steve.

  
Joyce entered first, looking slightly harried as she held the door for Hopper while he pushed the wheelchair through it, lifting it slightly to clear the small lip of the threshold. Steve’s head was drooping so low it almost seemed as if he were asleep sitting up if not for his eyes that were barely open to slits.

  
Hopper stopped the wheelchair just far enough inside that the door could be shut against the bitter winter wind before helping Steve out of his jacket. “Look,” he said tiredly to the kids as he bent down to remove Steve’s shoes, “I know you all want to see Steve, here and are all wondering how it went, but it’s been a really long day. Steve’s been through an awful lot. They really put him through the wringer today, and right now what he needs is a break and to get some sleep.”

  
“Sorry,” Steve mumbled into his fist, stifling a yawn. Hopper took that as his cue to start maneuvering the chair down the narrow hallway. It barely fit through. “Isn’t much to tell anyway. Most of the results won’t be back for a couple days.”

  
Robin lagged behind the rest of the group, the kids having trailed the pair down the hallway to be able to hear Steve’s soft-spoken words. They crowded in the doorway as Hopper parked Steve next to the bed and engaged the brakes, cupping the back of his neck and murmuring to him briefly before straightening up again. “Yeah, all we know right now is Steve’s still anemic and his kidneys are a little sluggish and they want us to push the fluids more. Ain’t that right, kid?”

  
The policeman bestowed a suspiciously misty-eyed, affectionate glance upon Steve who nodded absently, too zoned out to focus properly. Hopper let his large palm fleetingly come to rest on the boy’s shoulder before pivoting to peel back the covers and fluff the pillows a bit. The faint trembling from behind him as Steve strained to raise himself up captured Hopper’s attention and caused him to turn back around. “Just take it easy there, kid. It’s been a helluva day and I told you, I got this.”

  
Giving a small tip of his head in acknowledgement, Steve looked down sheepishly before relenting and slinging his arm around the other man’s neck. The kids watched as Hopper hooked one arm under Steve’s bent and angular knees and supported his back with the other before effortlessly lifting him out of the chair and placing him down carefully on the bed, handling him ever so gently as if he were the most fragile and precious thing in existence.

  
Hopper helped Steve shift and get as comfortable as he was able to before pulling up the covers and essentially tucking him in. The tips of Steve’s ears flushed red as he continued to look down in shame. Dustin knew he was embarrassed, and he wanted to reassure him and tell him not to be, but Hopper shooed them out before he got the chance. “Alright. Time for Steve to get some rest, so out. Now.”

  
Robin pressed herself against the wall to allow the kids to stream past her on their way down the hallway. All except Dustin. She had only caught a glimpse of the scene that unfolded in the room, but it was enough for her to understand Dustin’s reluctance to tear himself away. There was so much assistance that Steve needed – _required_ – now and it was so disheartening that it sparked an almost obsessive compulsion to deliver that assistance because it meant they were _doing something_ and not just passively watching him waste away. But there were times, like now, that what Steve really needed was a more hands-off approach and to be left alone. So, Robin slipped an arm around Dustin and guided him towards the living room.

  
Dustin glanced back over his shoulder in one last attempt at some encouraging words for his friend, but Steve’s eyes were already closed in exhaustion, too drained to stay awake any longer. The sight was bittersweet because he wished for nothing more than for Steve to be able to sleep peacefully and get even a temporary respite from his pain, but it shouldn’t have to take his body coming to the precipice of shutting down for him to get it.

  
The results did come back a few days later, but they weren’t exactly reassuring. Steve’s kidneys had indeed taken a bit of a hit from the chemo, but the doctors felt that they were capable of bouncing back without permanent damage. It was his heart and lungs that were posing more problematic. They had been weakened substantially more than anyone had realized, and the so-called experts were dubious as to whether Steve could actually survive the grueling process and all it entailed.

  
There was no definitive, clear-cut answer. It could go either way, and ultimately the decision became Steve’s to make. The risks were clearly spelled out against the benefits, and all the possible outcomes were presented, but it didn’t change Steve’s mind in the slightest. In his head, there was no other choice. He would die without the transplant anyway, so if that was his only alternative, then he figured that he may as well go out swinging.

  
On the night before Steve checked into the hospital, there was a gallant attempt to keep things light and upbeat, but it was impossible in the long run. The mood was unavoidably somber, and the kids were more than reluctant to leave Steve’s side as it would be weeks upon weeks, and maybe even several months, before they would be able to see him without a pane of glass separating them.

  
Steve would be kept in an isolation room all that time, everything and everyone that entered having to be thoroughly sterilized for his protection. Visitors would be restricted to only Hopper and Mrs. Byers, and even they would have to be covered from head-to-toe in medical garb before they could enter to minimize the danger posed to him by any outside germs.

  
The intense chemo regimen and powerful radiation of his entire body Steve would have to suffer through in preparation for the transplant would be brutal and like nothing he had ever encountered yet. It would eradicate his entire immune system, leaving him incapable of fighting off any bugs, even one as simple as the common cold. Any infection that he contracted while he was so susceptible would likely end his life before the healthy marrow took root and started producing blood cells that could adequately defend against such an attack. So, it was imperative that the precautions were strictly adhered to.

  
It could be up to six weeks after the procedure until that occurred, not including the ‘conditioning’ beforehand, as the doctors so euphemistically put it. _If_ that happened and _if_ it was successful, and _if_ the course of treatment beforehand didn’t kill him first, then it would be at least a couple months – possibly longer – before they could even be in the same room as Steve.

  
It was an incredibly hard pill for the kids to swallow. They wouldn’t be able to reach out and hug him or place cold rags against his forehead or hold his hand whenever they wanted to or give him any other gestures of solace meant not only to console him, but themselves, as well by allowing them to be present and perform some sort of constructive action for him. They wouldn’t be able to offer him any tactical comfort whatsoever to draw strength from if that’s what he needed to make it through the day or stay by their friend’s side for even the briefest of moments during the most difficult thing he would probably ever have to go through in his too-short life thus far. The best they would be able to do was stand on the other side of the glass in silent solidarity, giving their support from an approved distance, and learning to accept their limited role in Steve’s recovery in order to keep him alive and safe from any potential harm.

  
Being the smart kids that they were might have aided them in intellectually understanding the bigger picture, but it didn’t make it any easier to deal with. El and Max clung to him like baby koala bears to their mother, one girl quiet and brooding and nuzzling deeply into the other boy’s side, and the other one surprisingly openly weeping, the very antithesis of her typically hard and tough exterior.

  
Max bit back her tears enough to choke out, “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met. You know that, right? You believe that, don’t you, Steve? You _have_ to.”

  
Steve emitted a noncommittal sound from the back of his throat as he carded his fingers affectionately through the long red hair. “Everything’s going to be okay. _You guys_ will be okay. No matter how this turns out, it’ll be fine. _I’ll_ be fine.”

  
“What? Are you serious right now,” Mike hot-headedly exclaimed.

  
“Mike, now’s not the time,” Lucas stated diplomatically to diffuse the quickly-building tension. Mike’s temper often reared its ugly head in times of distress like this. It was a trait that all his friends were aware he held, but one they didn’t like very much and hadn’t figure out yet how to avoid completely.

  
“No! How can you say that? How can you sit here and be so reductive and blasé about something like this?” As expected, Mike’s righteous anger exploded out of him, but it was masking what he was truly feeling - the cold terror coursing through his veins.

  
“I’m not trying to be. It’s called acceptance, Mike. You should try it sometime. It’s much easier,” Steve sighed tiredly. He was also aware of Mike’s tendency to display his fury rather than what was really going on under the surface. Steve just didn’t have the energy to engage and get to the real source of his outburst right now, although he had a pretty good guess.

  
“So, that’s it? Let the chips fall where they may, and either way, you’re good with it because it’s _easier?"_ Mike’s eyes shone brightly in the dim light, the wrath he was cloaked in falteringly momentarily to reveal the true torment that lay beneath. “You’ve fought _so hard_ , and now – what, you’re just content to leave it all up to some cosmic force or fate? That’s bullshit!”

  
“Mike, stop it! That’s enough,” Dustin warned in a low and dangerous voice. “I mean it.”

  
“Please guys,” Will looked between his friends, his eyes coming to rest on Steve whose demeanor reflected the unnecessary additional duress that he was being put under by everyone’s turbulent emotional exhibitions. “This is the last thing that Steve needs right now.”

  
Will’s wise words were heeded in deference to the reason why they were all gathered together in this room. One look at Steve reminded them of the gravity of what he was about to undergo, and just where their focus should lie. A silence blanketed the room as they all strove to collect themselves.

  
“I’m terrified,” Mike finally admitted in a small voice, “and I’m not even the one whose life is on the line. I don’t understand how you’re _not_.”

  
“Oh, Mike. _Of course_ , I am! I’d have to be pretty dense not to be, wouldn’t I?” Steve held up a finger as El slipped out from underneath his grasp to make room for her boyfriend. “Don’t answer that.”

  
A light, uneasy chuckle scattered throughout the room. Mike even managed to smirk a bit as Steve pulled him down for a hug. “I knew going into this, it wasn’t going to be easy and things could end badly, but all I was trying to say was…I just…I hope you all know how much I care about each one of you, and I want you to know that whatever happens to me, I’m at peace with. I’ve _accepted it_. No matter how this goes, please remember that, okay?”

  
Dustin stared at Steve in awe, his eyes brimming over with both bottomless sorrow and admiration at the display of such raw courage. In that moment, he couldn’t have been more honored that someone as magnanimous and altruistic and valiant as Steve thought him worthy enough to consider him a friend. He would sooner die himself than ever let Steve down. He wasn’t ready to be in the place Steve was at yet, but he could at least try to get there – for him.

  
Dustin swiped a hand under his nose to clear away the mucus that had collected on his upper lip. “We’re going to come see you every day, alright? Even though we can’t go in. Whether you’re awake or well enough to know it or not, we’re going to be there. Okay? I promise.”

  
“C’mere, dipshit,” Steve said fondly. Max and Mike rose from the bed to allow Steve the room to envelop Dustin in a gigantic bear hug. He threaded his hand through the curly hair and whispered into his ear. “I may not be able to say this again, but I need you to know…that day at the Wheelers’ when you needed help with Dart? It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I’ve always thought of you like a brother, man.”

  
Dustin knew that all along. He did. But hearing those words fall from Steve’s lips was one of the best gifts he could have ever received. It was a moment he would play on repeat in the weeks ahead when things were unbearably bleak and dark. He barely managed to return the sentiment and get out an ‘I love you, too’ back before breaking down completely.

  
When Robin finally arrived to cart all the kids home, they had all gotten their own private words and hugs and cried their tears. Even though she had known Steve for significantly less time, she considered him one of her best friends and she selfishly wanted her turn, too. “Could you guys give us a minute?”

  
“Hey, Rob. What’s up?” Despite the circumstances, Steve couldn’t repress the smile that snuck across his lips at the expression on her face in response to his nonchalant greeting.

  
“Gee, nothing much. Only one of my best friends gearing up to get as close to death as humanly possible before making cancer his bitch again. Just your everyday, mundane occurrence. No big.” Robin flopped herself down on the bed dramatically. “Jesus, Harrington. ‘What’s up?’ Really?”

  
Steve huffed out a stunted laugh at her bluntness before turning more serious. He reached out for her hand. “I know that this may be a lot to ask, but the kids really do like you and…Rob, could you – would you do something for me?”

  
Robin’s features softened. “Yeah, of course.”

  
Steve knew Robin wasn’t going to like what he had to say, but it was something he just had to get out. “If something happens to me-“

  
“ _Steve!_ Stop that! Nothing’s going to happen to you,” Robin predictably interrupted, talking over him to prevent that nihilistic line of thinking.

  
Steve was undeterred by her protests, now gripping her one hand with both of his in an attempt to convey the genuine earnestness and urgency of his request. “ _If_ something happens to me, will you – will you look after the kids for me?”

  
“Steve…”

  
“Please. It’s important to me.” Steve shook her hand for emphasis. “Look, I know it’s stupid because they would still have Hopper and Joyce and in Mike and Will’s case, Jonathan and Nancy, but if I’m not around, I want someone to take my place and make sure the little dweebs are okay.”

  
“Steve, you _are_ being stupid. Don’t you know by now that no one could ever take your place in those kids’ eyes, dingus?” Robin patted him on the cheek. “Or mine. You’re frustratingly irreplaceable. But sure, I’ll look after your flock of nerds for you. But only until you’re back to your annoying old self again which you _will be_. They’ve already sworn me to a blood oath that I will take them to the hospital every afternoon to make sure you get there. They really didn’t have to try to twist my arm so hard. I was gonna do it anyway.”

  
“Thanks, Rob. I mean it.” Steve let his hand drift up to her wrist and encircle it. “It really means a lot. To me and them.”

  
“Don’t mention it.” Robin groaned good-naturedly and looked up to the ceiling. “Well, since we’re being all sappy now, I’m going to tell you something that I’ve only ever said to my mom and my cat, and maybe a random girl in the third grade, but _never_ to a male before – I love you. There, I said it. Don’t go getting a big head because I didn’t switch teams or anything. You’re just, like, one of the few people on this Earth that I happen to be able to tolerate, so you’re not allowed to die. Got it?”

  
“Got it,” Steve told her with mock sincerity before wrapping his arms around the former band-geek-turned-friend that he was so grateful life had accidentally thrown him together with. “Oh, and Rob? I love you, too.”

  
Robin rose from her position on the side of the bed. “That’s great and all, but don’t forget your primary role. I’m the lover. And maybe a thinker. Same goes for the kids. But you? You’re a fighter. And not just any ol’ fighter, but _the fighter_ of the group, according to the kids. You fill some pretty big shoes, there, so go fulfill your destiny and defend that crown of yours. Show us what you got in that warrior heart of yours'.”

  
All the pep talks and sweet words and love Steve was lavished with were carried with him when he was admitted to the hospital, and meant more than he could adequately express. But there was still a gaping void left by the absence of his parents who made no effort to see him beforehand. The only small morsel of recognition he received was a detached phone call wishing him well and an empty promise to stop in to see him on their way through town. Not that Steve had expected any differently, but it still hurt that it was Hopper and Joyce beneath all the protective gear and not the people that had brought him into this world.

  
Unlike his perpetually disappointing and absentee parents, the kids actually delivered on their vow to come every afternoon with Robin’s help. Steve was scheduled for his daily radiation sessions in the late afternoons, and the kids were always outside his room by then, dutifully waiting as he was being shuttled there and back on a gurney – even if he wasn’t always aware of their presence.

  
Although it wasn’t a surprise and was what they anticipated, it was still shocking to witness Steve visibly growing worse with each passing day. At first, his eyes were bright and alert above the surgical mask he wore, and he waved to them as he was escorted past. But after only a couple days he could barely crack his eyes open enough to acknowledge his friends, let alone tackle the monumental task of lifting his hand off his chest where it floppily rested. By the end of the week, his face had become so swollen and puffy from the medication that his cheeks protruded above the thin, blue mask, the color of it in stark contrast to his wan, ashen complexion. Unable to pry open his eyes anymore except to only the strongest stimuli, all he could do was lay limply against the mattress and let things happen around him.

  
Steve let the tubes deliver oxygen into his nasal passages when his lungs labored to fend off the harsh strain the medications put on his already struggling organs. He embraced the numbness and tingling that crept up his limbs as his nerve endings were marinated in the poisonous mixture of drugs and radiation. He surrendered to the all-encompassing pain that overwhelmed his senses and elicited an almost constant and unconscious whimpering from deep in the back of his throat, crescendoing to pathetic yelps whenever any sort of movement became involved.

  
At first, Steve was able to cooperate with getting himself transferred onto the gurney and back, but as his body continued to be ravaged by the treatment, the resulting weakness progressed to a such a pervasive and unwelcome degree that he could only lay passively as he was lifted and manhandled. He let Hopper and Joyce elevate and cradle his head when he couldn’t hold it up himself any longer to vomit, and shift him this way and that to change his clothes or the sheets when he missed the bin or they didn’t get to him quite in time.

  
Steve allowed a cold rag to be pressed to his head and an ice cube to be drug across his desert-dry and cracked lips when the flames of fever set in, and never shied away when the drool was wiped away from his chin or the suction device was inserted invasively into his mouth when swallowing became too excruciating and too much effort for his sore and excoriated throat. He let the machines be disconnected and reconnected to him over and over again to monitor his bodily functions, proving with their outputs and mechanical beeps that he was indeed alive and not the corpse that he resembled both inside and out.

  
Joyce turned her head often in an attempt to disguise her tears, but not quite succeeding, the aching in her heart almost too much to bear from her inability to alleviate the inhuman misery Steve endlessly suffered through, meeting Hopper’s grim and knowing gaze in hopes of reaffirming her resolve. Steve peered at the empathetic woman through cloudy and bleary eyes, wanting to reach out to her and tell her not to be sad, that it would be okay soon as he let Joyce stroke a rubber-clad hand over his head, across his cheek, his arm, searching for any touch that might soothe him instead of hurt him. He had the will to console her but lacked the strength it took to accomplish it.

  
Sometimes it was Hopper that took the frail boy into his strong and sturdy arms, propping him against his chest and numerous pillows to get him sitting up a bit, carefully arranging his limbs to avoid any complications like sores or pneumonia that laying in one position too long might cause. While the chief supported Steve from behind, he alternated between growling commands in his ear not to give up and heaping praise onto him about what a courageous and tough and good kid he was. How they all needed him to get better.

  
Honestly, only some of those words got through in his barely conscious state. Hopper and Joyce would also take turns holding the receiver of the intercom up to his ear so he could hear the kids’ voices and their messages to bolster his spirits even though he couldn’t really respond. It all blurred together, and Steve endured every humiliating, demeaning, and horrible aspect. He submitted to all of it because there was nothing else he could do but let it all happen to him with a detached sort of fascination, as if he were an outside observer to his own wrecked body, and pray the unremitting agony would come to an end and his torture would be over soon.

  
Every so often, a voice would count down for him how many days or hours – even minutes – Steve had to keep holding on through the seemingly endless days and nights before the transplant was scheduled and his misery could finally begin subsiding. He clung to that voice like a lifeline. Valentine’s Day. Just two more days. Then, tomorrow. You can do this, Steve. And finally, mercifully - it’s time, Steve.

  
Red hearts and cupids’ arrows were plastered all over the walls of the hallway the kids stood in awaiting the big moment as the medical team flitted in and out of the room in preparation, checking and rechecking everything was in order. None of the parents were foolish enough to try to send the kids to school, knowing that it was futile to get them to concentrate on anything other than their friend that day. Most of them stood back against the opposite wall, too, just as invested in Steve’s recovery and adoring of him as their children.

  
It was surreal, seeing the figure in the bed being connected to what looked like nothing more than an extra-large bag of blood. Steve was almost unrecognizable at that point, a virtual stranger to them all in his severely dilapidated condition and further unidentifiable beneath all the tubes and wires obscuring him and crisscrossing everywhere. But buried under all the equipment and all the machines was indeed someone that they cared for very much and one that had become such an integral and intertwined part of their lives. It was morbidly poetic that it was Valentine’s Day, a day representing and celebrating love which was something their ragtag family had in copious amounts to share with each other.

  
Hopper gave them a thumbs up, indicating that it was starting, and the group collectively held their breath as the clamp was released and the reddish, viscous fluid flowed down from the container, into the line, and towards Steve’s chest. Both Joyce and Hopper wormed a hand through all the cords attached to the boy, transferring their warmth and support as best they could through the rubber gloves and onto his frigid skin, and just letting him know that they were there with their touch. The receiver was placed on the pillow next to Steve’s head with the same intent, to allow the kids to communicate their words of inspiration during the procedure by simply depressing the intercom button on their side of the wall.

  
Steve gave absolutely no indication he was cognizant of anything that transpired around him. There was a lull in their encouragement because they weren’t sure just how much was getting through until the disembodied voice of Hopper came through the box on the wall. “Keep talking. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I can tell he hears you, so don’t stop.”

  
So, they renewed their resolve and kept at it, depressing the button on the speaker one at a time until the bag ran dry and Steve was disconnected, everyone but Joyce and Hopper eventually vacating the room. The whole procedure took almost no time and seemed instantaneous compared to the weeks leading up to it. Steve remained in the same position throughout it all, completely inert and not so much as even flinching at the activity that had surrounded him. He gave no overt signs that he was aware it even happened at all, and that in itself was disturbing.

  
“This seems kinda, I don’t know…” Max trailed off uncertainly, hands balling up the fabric of her sleeves.

  
“Anticlimactic,” Lucas finished for her.

  
“Well, yeah,” she shrugged apologetically. “I guess I thought the procedure would be much more complicated and he wouldn’t still be so out of it and unable to enjoy the fact that he was getting cured.”

  
Joyce’s voice crackled through the speaker. “It’s over now, Steve. You did it.” They stared at their friend through the glass partition and watched as Joyce caressed his cheek over and over, continuing to reassure him. “You’re so brave. So strong, sweetheart.”

  
Will’s face lit up with a smile. “Well, I think it was amazing. We just witnessed a miracle, guys! Steve’s been given the gift of _life_ , and we got to see it.”

  
“He looks more _dead_ than alive right now, in case you hadn’t noticed,” Mike said cynically, but without his usual bite. His tone was laden with sadness, disconcerted by Steve’s unresponsive condition. El’s eyes widened and she shot him a withering look at his candidness.

  
“What did you expect, Mike? For him to get up instantly healed and moonwalk for us? Take us on a joy ride? Recovery is going to be slow and take some time, so get a grip,” Dustin said wearily, still leaning against the wall.

  
“Hey! Hey, geniuses,” Hopper barked, pointing an accusing finger at them. “We can still hear everything you’re saying. Maybe next time let off the button.”

  
Their eyes all darted around frantically, Dustin shooting up from his place against the wall and looking guilty as he realized his shoulder had been inadvertently pressing on it the whole time. The others glared at him as they all wondered how they were going to rectify the situation.

  
No one noticed Steve perking up a bit and Hopper subsequently bending down to Steve’s level, his ear almost to his mouth. A sly grin stretched out beneath his thick mustache, both concealed by the mask. The corner of the policeman’s eyes crinkled, narrowing in amusement the longer Steve spoke.

  
Hopper straightened up and shouted at them suddenly, “Quiet! Steve has something to say!” He waited for the din to die out before continuing. “Steve says, and I quote: ‘Chill out, dipshits. When they finally let me out of this room, I’ll show you just how alive I look while I’m kicking your asses.’ Oh, and he also says, ‘And I love you shitheads, too.’”

  
The tension immediately bled out of the air at Steve’s witty retort. Seeing even a tiny glimpse of the fighting spirit that Steve had always possessed, but in Dustin’s opinion had been more absent than not in the last couple of months, was proof that the Steve that they all knew and loved was still in there. _His_ Steve. _Their_ Steve. It made Dustin believe again, if just for the briefest of moments, that his friend was really as indestructible and invincible and heroic as he had built him up to be in his head so long ago after their run-ins with the Upside Down. Even though the cancer had tried its damnedest, it had ultimately been unable to take that away from him. And it gave Dustin hope that maybe, just maybe, his mind had been telling him lies and Steve really would be just fine in the end, never having to deal with any of this bullshit ever again.

  
Dustin pushed the button, this time on purpose. “Absolutely looking forward to it, buddy. And don’t worry. We know.”

  
As the intercom was being utilized, Jonathan and Nancy were – and had been – taking advantage of the good old-fashioned phone lines to stay updated on the events back home with their siblings and each other.

  
“Have you heard at all how it went today?” Even though Jonathan couldn’t see her face, the worry was plain in her voice. “I haven’t been able to get ahold of Mike yet.”

  
“No, sorry,” Jonathan apologized. “I usually don’t get to talk to Will until pretty late. Mom stays at the hospital as long as possible and picks him and El up on the way home. It might be even later today because, you know…”

  
“I know. I’m really glad your mom and Hopper especially, were able to take enough time off to stay with Steve. The thought of him being alone in that room for even a minute during this…,” Nancy trailed off, sniffling faintly. “Mike says that – he says that it’s worse than we could imagine. That Steve is so sick that he doesn’t even seem conscious most of the time, but he _is_ , Jonathan. He’s aware of – he _feels_ every horrible thing happening to him.”

  
“Yeah. Will pretty much said the same thing. That he wouldn’t even have known it was Steve if Mom and Hopper hadn’t been in the room with him,” Jonathan recalled how increasingly upset Will had gotten as the days went on.

  
“Mike was actually crying on the phone last week. _Crying_ , Jonathan!” Nancy didn’t sound like she was far off herself. “He was afraid that Steve was going to quit breathing and go into respiratory failure overnight because he had been gasping for air all afternoon, even with oxygen on.”

  
“Nance, we talked about this before, remember? His lungs weren’t in too hot of shape before this started, so it wasn’t exactly unexpected,” Jonathan gently reminded her. “But I guess it’s one thing to _know_ that, and another thing to _see_ it in person.”

  
“The tests beforehand said his heart wasn’t doing too great, either. What if that starts to give out, too,” Nancy fretted. “I just…I don’t understand how something that’s supposed to help him is destroying his body even more. What if he really doesn’t survive this, Jonathan?”

  
“They were pretty upfront that was a possibility,” Jonathan sighed reluctantly. “Let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that. It’s not like there were any other options, anyway. Steve didn’t have long left without it.”

  
Jonathan’s words were accurate, but difficult to stomach. They spurred a new onslaught of tears, and it took Nancy a couple minutes to pull herself together again. “Do you – do you think that his donor came from the blood drives we arranged?”

  
“I don’t know,” Jonathan said honestly. “I don’t think we’ll ever get to know because it’s supposed to be completely anonymous. But even if it didn’t work out in Steve’s favor, hopefully what we put together helped some others in the same situation, at least. And in the end, it _doesn’t matter_ where it came from because Steve has his shot now.”

  
“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. And you know what,” Nancy acquiesced before assertively adding, “No matter where it came from or how this turns out…I really think we should plan another one. You know, in Steve’s honor. Everything he’s been through and how close he’s come to – to not making it…Well, if we can – if we can help prevent other families from going through the same thing…Maybe it won’t make a difference, but it’s worth a try, don’t you think?”

  
Listening to Nancy talk with such renewed determination made Jonathan smile despite the grim circumstances. “I think that’s an excellent idea. Count me in. Why don’t you tell Steve about it when we come home for Spring Break next month? I bet he’ll be touched. Oh, and Nance? Let me know if you hear anything, okay?”

  
“Definitely. Goodbye, Jonathan.”

  
“‘Bye, Nance,” he whispered into the receiver before breaking the connection.

  
In the two weeks that had passed since that conversation, and therefore the transplant, Steve had shown signs of steady improvement. It wasn’t a sudden, miraculous recovery by any stretch of the imagination, but he was certainly more awake and alert and able to interact with the people around him. He hadn’t vomited in several days and was even able to take in small amounts of food.

  
The immunosuppressive medications he had to take now still wreaked havoc on his body, but not to the same degree that the chemo had. Being off the treatment for a period of time had done wonders for the way he felt. Each day he tested the limits of what he thought his body could handle a little bit more.

  
If Steve assumed that he would be bored and listless in the days after the transplant, stuck in isolation, he would have been sorely mistaken. Fully suited people flitted in and out of his room all day. Nurses and doctors and aides and specialists. There were medications, tests, blood, and more medications. A physical therapist came in to work with him every day to help build back up all the muscle tone he had lost, and the exercises that seemed so rudimentary at first were much more demanding than he wanted to admit. Each session was more taxing than the last and rather than get discouraged, he only pushed himself harder. Steve had a very specific goal in mind today and he was determined to achieve it. He sat on the side of the bed and removed the oxygen.

  
“Steve, what are you doing? You still need that. Put those things back on your face, kid,” Hopper ordered him.

  
“I’ll be okay for a few minutes. I have to go to the bathroom, and I like, actually want to _go into the bathroom_.” Steve paused to take a breath. “And I want to do it _by myself_ this time.”

  
“Nope. Not happening. You can barely walk,” Hopper snapped.

  
“It’s only like, two feet away. What, are you going to stop me,” Steve challenged, huffing a bit with the effort.

  
“Damn right!”

  
“Hop,” Joyce glared sternly at the cop before gracing Steve with a more apologetic and understanding glance. “Let Steve decide what he’s able to do and what he isn’t.”

  
Without waiting for a response, Joyce began coiling up the cord of the IV pump and disentangling the rest of the wires so Steve could move freely. He looked at her gratefully before forcing himself up on his severely wobbling legs, bracing himself by nearly sheer will alone on the handrail. Letting go, he took a few tottering and very uneven steps into the next room, closing the door behind him.

  
Hopper pointed at the door. “That kid is a stubborn mule.”

  
“Takes one to know one,” Joyce patted him playfully on the chest. “‘Sides, maybe that’s part of the reason he’s still with us. Steve’s been through a lot and has had to be totally reliant on us for awhile and he’s still got a ways to go. He knows that, but he’s just flexing those independent muscles a bit. So, let him.”

  
Hopper let out a frustrated groan. He _hated_ when Joyce was right…and he wasn’t. But he also wasn’t exactly wrong in his concern, either.

  
Steve flushed the toilet and was ridiculously proud for such a comparatively small accomplishment. This is what it had come to – celebrating the ability to merely take a piss by himself. He turned on the faucet and met his eyes in the mirror, sighing in resignation at the image reflected back at him.

  
He looked like even more of an alien to himself than he usually did. Steve had grown used to the sharper cheekbones, the paleness, the bags under his eyes, the tube taped to his face, and even the lack of hair on his head, but the conditioning chemo and radiation had really done a number on him. For the most part, his eyebrows and eyelashes went inexplicably untouched by the prior treatments, but now even those were gone, too. His skin was even thinner and more translucent, the only color to it the peeling redness from the radiation and the squiggly blue veins prominently visible under his sallow skin.

  
Steve continued staring at the foreign figure before him, reaching up to press his fingers to the reflective surface to confirm it was really him when a knocking broke him out of his reverie. “You okay in there, kid? The doctor’s suiting up, so you might want to wrap it up in there.”

  
“Okay,” Steve acknowledged while hurriedly drying off his hands on the cheap paper towels. “I’m coming.”

  
The words left his mouth with insufficient power and force behind them. His breaths were drawing a little closer together and a little shallower than they were a few minutes ago. Steve’s lungs burned from the effort and he didn’t fight Hopper as he got him back to the bed and settled the oxygen into his nose.

  
The door let out a hiss of air as the pressure was released. “Ah, it’s good to see you up and about some, Steven. I trust it’s getting a little easier each day?”

  
Steve nodded, eyeing the papers in the doctor’s hand anxiously. To his credit, the doctor realized this and got straight to the point. “Your results came in, and they weren’t as positive as we were hoping they would be. The good news is that we’re not finding any significant evidence of leukemic cells in your samples anymore.”

  
“That’s great, sweetheart,” Joyce stroked a thumb against his scalp.

  
“Unfortunately, we’re not seeing any signs of engraftment yet, but don’t be discouraged. We’ll keep a close eye on it, and sometimes it can take several more weeks before that happens which isn’t unusual. In the meantime, we’ll keep supporting you with blood and platelets and shots to stimulate your white blood cells until your body can start producing its own.”

  
Steve’s face fell. It was a marathon, not a sprint they kept telling him, but still…he had dared to hope that he could catch a bit of a break and he would be on the faster end of things. No such luck, though. He guessed he just needed some reassurance that it wasn’t all for naught. “But it’s going to happen? I didn’t go through all this for nothing though, right?”

  
“It wasn’t for nothing. This was the only viable option left.” The doctor cleared his throat. “Of course, there are no guarantees and I don’t want to mislead you, but there’s no reason to think that it won’t be successful. We have every reason to believe your immune system will accept the transplant and finally wake up and kick into gear. We’re just going to have to wait a little longer and give it some time. It’s just going to take some patience on all our parts. Can you do that?”

  
“Guess I’ve gotten pretty good at the waiting part, haven’t I,” Steve tried for a weak joke that fell flat, even to his own ears.

  
“You sure have, honey,” Joyce continued to pacify him with her motherly touches.

  
“You’re a regular pro at it, kid,” Hopper agreed kindly.

  
Like he had said, he had become accustomed to the perpetual tiresome process of waiting. Waiting for treatments to finish. Waiting for results. Waiting in doctor’s offices. In hospitals. And waiting bred patience and patience was something Steve had learned to have plenty of by now, too. Steve would sit there, obediently and patiently waiting for his newly infused healthy cells to come to life and start functioning normally for as long as time allowed him to. He couldn’t live without an immune system forever, though, so it was time that had once again become the enemy. Always time. It was time that he wasn’t sure he had enough of to spare. But ironically, only time would tell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It may seem like this story is nearing the end, but I assure you that is not the case. I have definite plans for where I want this to go, but I estimate maybe 5 or 6 more chapters (maybe a little more if it's needed to tell the story). I am so honored by those who have come on this journey with me so far, and humbly ask you to hang with me a little longer. And if you just started reading - welcome! All the best...


	17. Interlude: How Do You Measure...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life after the transplant isn't without its challenges. Steve adapts to his new normal and the chosen family take a trip together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for continuing to read this story! I really appreciate all the support! No real TW in this part except for extreme fluff and sappiness and melodrama, bordering on an afterschool special. I hope it isn't too saccharine or lengthy, but I got a little carried away writing a more light-hearted part for the first time. And making Steve even more of a saint than he already was. As always, happy reading and please take care of yourselves and stay well!

The young, immature green buds that were newly emerged from the branches danced lazily in the gentle breeze. Birds chirped and soared through the air, feathers glinting with the morning sun as they flitted from treetop to treetop. Bulbs sprouted through the freshly thawed and damp earth, their stalks reaching for the crisp blue sky above and adorned with flowers poised to bloom after the long winter’s hibernation. Steve gazed down wistfully at the garden below his window, feeling a unique kinship with the new life resurfacing after such a dark and dismal season where seemingly no living thing could grow or flourish.

  
It had taken a full six weeks for the new marrow to engraft and start producing the cells that were the foundation of Steve’s fledgling immune system, during which time he continued to remain in isolation. Despite the inconvenience it presented, Jonathan and Nancy visited him every day that they were home on Spring Break. Even through the glass partition the couple could see how much better the other teen was doing compared to when they last saw him, and were reassured that he wasn’t in any imminent danger as they left to return back to school.

  
A plan had been put in place for Steve to be discharged, but on the eve of that monumental occasion, it had to be scrapped and put on hold because it was discovered that he was experiencing an episode of acute rejection. There was even a special term for it – graft versus host disease. Steve didn’t know anything about the fancy name, he just knew that an irritating rash had appeared shortly before he was gripped by the unwelcome sharp pains in his abdomen.

  
The doctors explained that this was a common occurrence in the immediate aftermath of the transplant and not to be overly concerned about it. It could be controlled by tweaking his medications and increasing the steroids, but they wanted to keep him under observation until it was completely resolved which meant he would turn twenty years old while still caged inside these walls. Today, in fact.

  
Fearing he would become depressed over spending yet another special occasion in the hospital, the kids snuck in early in the morning before school and decorated the window facing out into the hallway. Sometimes that window made him feel like a fish in a bowl, but it was his only lifeline to most of the outside world. And this morning he had been doubly grateful for it.

  
When Steve had awoken and pushed back the privacy curtain, he was greeted by the sight of the cheerful trimmings. The lengths his friends would go to just to make him smile were extraordinary and made him feel loved in ways he never thought possible. Steve stared at the bright streamers and colorful signs taped there, bracketed by helium balloons fastened to the handrails and doorknobs, as he sipped contentedly on his coffee. It seemed like such a small thing, but one he had been unable to enjoy again until very recently.

  
By the time the afternoon rolled around, Joyce had stopped by with a carefully, diet approved birthday lunch on her way into work, promising to come back with something even better after her shift. After she left, Steve charmed his way into being unhooked for a few hours so he could take a real shower. He groaned in satisfaction under the hot spray as he dumped shampoo into his hand for the first time in _months_. Maybe it was a little overkill for the relatively short nubs of hair that populated his scalp, but if it made him feel better, what was the harm?

  
It was amazing how much more human a thoroughly cleansing shower and a fresh pair of his own pajamas made him feel. Steve absentmindedly toweled off his head and nearly jumped out of his skin when six bodies popped up from the bottom of the window as he exited the bathroom.

  
The kids must have been lying in wait for him. They sang such a loud and obnoxious rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’ that the staff halfheartedly threatened to throw them out if they didn’t stop disturbing the other patients. The chastising left Steve utterly bemused as he tottered over to the chair now situated next to the glass and practically collapsed into it. He had been getting around so much better on his own, but still tired very easily and even something as simple as the shower had already depleted his energy.

  
They chatted amicably, the afternoon passing swiftly as they described in detail their bike ride here and regaled him with tales from school and memories of their escapades with him when he was much stronger. They explained Robin’s absence, saying she was nursing a cold and was keeping a safe distance. Throughout, they kept stealing guilty glances at him until Steve was forced to ask them what was wrong.

  
Max was the first to pipe up. “After all you’ve been through, we wanted to make this the best birthday ever for you. Like really do it up right. We wanted to do something more than _this_ , but we obviously can’t take you anywhere and they wouldn’t let us bring gifts because, you know…”

  
“Max,” Steve warmly drew out her name. “C’mon, are you kidding? This is great! Really! Who needs to go out or get gifts? I have all I need right here.”

  
“Steve, you don’t have to be so selfless _all the time_ ,” Mike scolded amiably. “ _Everyone_ likes getting gifts and going out for their birthday.”

  
“Yeah, there must be _something_ we can do for you. _Think_ , Steve,” Will implored.

  
Will’s wide and innocent eyes compelled Steve to at least pretend to mull it over, but he couldn’t tell them his heart’s biggest desires – to go outside to bask in the Spring sun and _go home_. It would be unfair to voice something they couldn’t possibly deliver on. He _had_ heard a rumor that there was discussion on relaxing some of his restrictions, though. So, Steve settled on a wish that at least had the potential of being attainable: “I kinda heard the nurses talking. I might be allowed more visitors soon. I’d just really…I just…I wish I could be in the same room with you guys again.”

  
“I’m on it!” Dustin, bless him, took that tiny iota of a possibility and ran with it, personally going to hunt down his friend’s nurse. He practically dragged her down the hallway fifteen minutes later. “Guess what? Guess what? One of us can go in!”

  
“Your little friend here is correct. One of them – just one, mind you – may go in,” the nurse informed him kindly. “They were going back and forth about it, anyway, and decided to allow one extra visitor as sort of a test to see how you react before trying to send you home again. Same guidelines apply, though. So, which one will it be?”

  
Steve held up his hands. “Oh no. I’m not falling for that trap. Let them duke it out.”

  
El poked Dustin in the chest. “You.”

  
Lucas nodded eagerly. “Yeah, man. It should be you.”

  
No one protested. Even Mike was more agreeable than his usual self. “Yeah. Everyone knows you're Steve’s favorite,” he mumbled good-naturedly. “And today is about him. Not us.”

  
Dustin blinked in surprise. He had expected to have to put up a gargantuan fight wrought with a list of reasons and supporting evidence as to why he should get the honor. The uncoerced concession left him somewhat speechless. “Okay.”

  
He let the nurse take his temperature and patiently answered a barrage of questions before being led into the next room where she supervised him washing his hands and assisted him into the mask and gown and gloves. The funny thing was that all of the medical attire didn’t look ridiculous like it did on everyone else. On Dustin it looked…natural.

  
Steve rose from the chair and stood in anticipation. Finally, the hiss of air as the pressure was released from the door resounded and Dustin flew into his readily accepting arms. “Steve…”

  
Steve’s hand found its way to the curly hair that was now covered by a surgical cap instead of the regular hat and gave it a fond ruffle through the material. “Hey, Dusty.”

  
The pair hung onto one another just relishing the sensation for several minutes. Steve hardly had any human contact that wasn’t medical personnel other than Hopper and Joyce, and he didn’t realize just how much he had been aching for it until now. Dustin’s breathing hitched under his grasp and he pulled back to find the boy’s eyes suspiciously wet. “Hey. Hey, it’s okay. I’m okay.” Steve wasn’t aware that his eyes were sparkling, too.

  
“I know,” Dustin sniffed, pressing his face back against Steve’s chest. “I can already tell. You don’t feel like just bones anymore. You’re starting to feel like you again – the _old_ you. The healthy you.”

  
“Oh, Dusty. That’s because I _am_ healthy. Or getting there, at least.” Steve just embraced him tighter.

  
“I missed being able to do this, Steve. I missed _you_.” Dustin’s voice was high and thin, on the verge of breaking down.

  
“Me too, bud. Me too.” Steve was proud that his words only shook slightly as they left his lips. “But we’re going to have plenty of chances for this because I did it. I made it through.”

  
No one in the hallway was able to hear what was going on, but they didn’t need to. The conversation was private and meant for their ears only. It did them a world of good just to witness the two friends continuing to hold onto one another, Steve’s face no longer drawn tight with pain or worry or fatigue like before. Those expressions were replaced by a wattage-envying smile that lit up the otherwise dismal room. Dustin wore a similar look.

  
“What are we all staring at?” Unbeknownst to the five kids whose attention was drawn elsewhere, Hopper had sauntered up behind them balancing a cake on his arm. Joyce was a few steps behind. He did a quick headcount and it dawned on him that someone was missing and was likely somewhere they weren’t supposed to be. “What the hell is he doing in there? He can’t be in there.”

  
“No, no. It’s cool. He got permission first,” Mike quickly explained to the agitated cop.

  
“From who? Himself? ‘The Party’,” Hopper spat out sardonically.

  
“No, really. The doctors said one of us could go in.” El was behind Will, nodding in silent concurrence. “And we voted for Dustin. It just made the most sense.”

  
Hopper’s glare mellowed into a much more forgiving look. Will and El were the two least likely kids to fabricate a story. And as fiercely defensive as the kids were over anything that concerned Steve – even before the illness – Hopper had to begrudgingly acknowledge that they would never jeopardize his health for their own selfish gain.

  
“Isn’t it sweet? Oh, I bet this made them both so happy!” Joyce removed a camera from her purse and snapped a covert photo.

  
Once Steve had been served his special birthday dinner and the kids had been fed also, the cake was presented in as ostentatious a fashion as could be managed without being able to use an open flame. Dustin maintained some type of physical contact with Steve the entire time, whether it be their shoulders brushing up against one another while they ate or flat out holding his hand as the group launched into a second round of ‘Happy Birthday’ that was somehow more enthusiastic and raucous than the first.

  
Birthdays were extra special celebrations on the oncology unit, and the staff made as many allowances for them as they could, but also had to take into consideration the other patients. Knowing they had pushed the limits already, the group courteously packed it in a little early and the kids let Joyce usher them out without a fight, leaving Hopper behind with Steve and the remains of the cake.

  
Hopper gave Steve a tired smile and patted him on the shoulder as he passed by and settled onto the opposite end of the couch from where Steve sat with his back up against the armrest, feet up to ease some of the residual numbness and tingling coursing constantly through his limbs now courtesy of his latest encounters with the chemo and radiation combination. “I hope you had a good day, kid. You deserve it. Sorry you had to spend your first day out of your teens in here, though.”

  
“S’kay.” Steve grinned dreamily to himself as he lightly knocked his bent knees together repetitively before catching sight of Hopper’s doubtful expression. “No, really. I’m really, like, not as bummed as you guys think I am. I mean, sure, I’d like to not be in here, in general, but…I wasn’t even supposed to _be here_ , you know?”

  
Hopper’s face grew grim at the implication, but he stayed silent, intuiting that Steve had more to say on the subject. He guessed correctly.

  
“Being upset about where or how I spent today just would seem like…I don’t know, like I was being greedy about it or something. Getting mad about something so…so unimportant just seems silly when I didn’t know if I’d even be _alive_ to see this day, you know?”

  
“That’s a very mature attitude, but no one’d fault you for wanting a little something more. It’s human nature, and quite frankly, you’ve earned it.” Hopper reached out to jostle the boy’s leg affectionately. Steve only shrugged in response. “Tell you what. Next year, on your twenty-first birthday, I’ll personally take you out and get you drunker than a skunk. How does that sound?”

  
The image of tossing back alcoholic drinks all night and being picked up off the floor by the Chief of Police was so ridiculous that it sent Steve into a fit of giggles. “Oh, I can’t wait.”

  
Hopper grew thoughtful. “What _would_ you like to do when you get out of here?”

  
Steve contemplated that for a moment. “I dunno. I think I’d like to get out of Hawkins. Go on a trip.” The cop’s eyebrows shot up at that. “I mean, like not right away. I know I can’t waltz out of here and hit the road. But maybe, like, the end of summer. Maybe we could take the kids to Disney World or something. Most of them have never been.”

  
Hopper sat up straighter in surprise. “Uh, that’s a hard no! ‘Happiest place on Earth’, my ass. And there’s no way you’re traveling that far away from this hospital and your doctors for that long so soon, even with other adults. Which, by the way, what’s with this ‘we’ bullshit?”

  
Steve graced him with a sly grin. “I had a feeling you’d say that, so I did a little research. Or, I should say, I had _Dustin_ do a little research. There’s an amusement park that’s only a couple hours away. It’d be a perfect place to take the kids. Say, for a long weekend? Like Labor Day?”

  
Hopper growled – actually growled - at him. “We’ll see. And you never answered how that translates into a ‘we’ situation.”

  
“Well, I thought it might be fun. We all could use some time away from…all this. From Hawkins. And you’re right, I couldn’t transport all the kids there myself and it probably would be better if I wasn’t alone with them in case of the remote chance something happens. Besides, I’ve never had a real family vacation before. Not really, anyway.” Steve fixated his large, hazel eyes onto Hopper, and the longer the policeman stared, the more they resembled a puppy dog’s. “Unless you count being holed up in a hotel room while my dad screwed his secretary three doors down and my mom got drunk in the bar downstairs.”

  
If that wasn’t one of the most pathetic things Hopper had ever heard, he didn’t know what was. And the truth was, after cradling the boy in his arms when he was only inches away from death and seeing how far he’d come and how vibrant and lively he was now, Hopper didn’t think he had the power within him to deny Steve anything, ever again. Hopper rolled his eyes skyward and gave a belabored sigh. “ _If_ you feel well enough, and _if_ the doctors approve, then we’ll see.”

  
Steve beamed at him smugly. He _knew_ he had the policeman wrapped around his finger, the little shit. As a sort of peace offering, Steve opened up the leftover cake and offered him one of the last two slices which Hopper accepted. He clinked his fork against Steve’s own frost-covered utensil. “Here’s to starting your twenties, kid.”

  
“Man, if my twenties are starting off this good, I can’t _wait_ to see what my thirties bring. I might go into shock or something from all the happiness.” Steve punctuated his statement by stuffing a rather large bite of chocolate cake into his mouth. It had been a long time since he had even allowed himself to entertain the notion of a future, let alone speak about it.

  
Hopper studied the boy across from him, trying to picture him a decade from now, crow’s feet faintly etched into the skin around his eyelids and that luxurious hair greying at the temples, and found it difficult to do. He would always feel so much older than all the kids, and even though he was technically the oldest Steve would, in his mind, be forever young to him. Hopper supposed that was just how it worked. No matter how big they got, parents still saw their kids as little children, and boy, did he feel like a parent to these kids most of the time, especially El and Steve. But like any parent, being able to see your children grow and mature was a bittersweet privilege, and he wanted that for Steve more than anything. “I sure hope so, kid. I sure hope so.”

  
Another discharge date had been set and passed unsuccessfully. In early May, Steve had developed a soft cough. There was no fever, so at first it was presumed to be allergies, but when it didn’t go away, a source of infection was more deeply investigated. This sent Dustin into an absolute tizzy, blaming himself for getting Steve sick because he was the only variable in the equation. It took an enormous amount of smooth talking and the discovery that it wasn’t an infection, after all, to calm him down.

  
What Steve was experiencing was another episode of acute rejection. There was no initial rash or abdominal pain this time. Instead, it targeted his already weakened lungs. The follow up tests after the transplant had shown that his heart had recovered somewhat. It would never be quite as strong as the average healthy young adult’s heart, but it shouldn’t interfere with his day to day life. His lungs, however, would need to be watched more closely.

  
Steve hadn’t required oxygen in well over a month and didn’t even have to take any special medication for it, but he would likely never have the lung capacity it took to run for long distances or the stamina to compete in a basketball game like he used to, ever again. And a respiratory infection had the potential to be absolutely devastating. Steve took it in stride. Being a little winded now and then was a small price to pay considering the alternative.

  
Once more, the doctors adjusted his medications, increased his steroids, and added a couple of inhalers to his daily regimen. A new goal for a discharge date was set, but nothing was mentioned to the kids this time, not wanting to get their hopes up only to have them come crashing down if it didn’t work out again.

  
Finally, on the first day of June, after approximately _four months_ in the hospital - and exactly two years to the day from his original diagnosis - Joyce and Hopper were helping pack up all the belongings he had accumulated during his stay. There was quite a bit and it took some time to load up the car before they were ready to escort Steve out in a wheelchair. They made him wear a mask until he got out to the car, but he wasn’t required to wear one at home, thankfully.

  
The kids weren’t expecting him, so he decided to make a dramatic entrance. Steve boisterously announced his presence with a, “What’s up, shitheads? I’m baaaaaack.”

  
The stunned looks on their faces were priceless, and soon gave way to unadulterated rejoicing. He was practically assaulted with hugs until Hopper called them off like rabid dogs, so Steve could, as he put it, park his ass on the sofa and just relax.

  
Jonathan and Nancy were currently making their respective ways back home, and it was speculated that they would react to Steve’s freedom just as demonstratively. Steve reveled in all of it. Just being able to experience a human touch without a layer of latex or a paper gown to guard against germs was a treat. And it was absolutely heavenly to move about untethered, not connected to any machines by tubes or wires. Even the feeding tube had been removed, much to his delight.

  
The hardest thing Steve had to combat that summer was the boredom that eventually crept in as he struggled to adapt to his ‘new normal’. He drove the kids wherever they asked, but more often than not, out of deference to his limitations, they elected to stay home. Crowds were discouraged so that meant that places like the arcade, the mall, and the movies were out. The community pool was similarly banned because it was, as Dustin so eloquently put it, a cesspool of the town’s germs. Steve even had to be cautious about going out to eat.

  
On more than one occasion Joyce had come home from work and chided him sternly after catching him in the act of deep cleaning one room or another. Steve pointed to the yellow dishwashing gloves and the mask he preventively wore, but Joyce was unswayed, cautioning him against stirring up bacteria or mold and inadvertently inhaling it or straining himself too much.

  
It’s not that Steve didn’t understand her arguments, or all the restrictions imposed on him, or all the fussing over him everyone did, but he couldn’t sit around and do _nothing_ for the rest of his life. That wasn’t living. It was merely existing.

  
When late August rolled around and he was due for another checkup, Steve held his breath. Of course, these appointments twisted his guts with anxiety, but there was a little something extra riding on this one. Depending on how the examine went would determine whether they got to go on this trip or not.

  
To his great relief he was stable and the doctors approved, relaxing the standards enough that he was allowed to be around a larger crowd – in an outside setting, at least. They sent him off with a long list of precautions, rides he could or could not go on, and a strict reminder to take his meds and carry his inhalers around with him. Permission was sought from parents, Jonathan and Nancy were informed, and Robin was invited, as well, but had to decline as she would be visiting family out of town herself. Finally, Steve had the distinct pleasure of telling the kids.

  
Their excitement was palpable and was sustained all the way up to and including the car ride. They probably could’ve fit into two cars, but not when luggage was factored in, too. Jonathan and Nancy rode together, and Steve sat in the passenger seat of Joyce’s car while Will, Mike, and El talked quietly in the backseat. That left Hopper transporting Dustin, Max, and Lucas who were no doubt having a very lively and energetic discussion planning out the details of their upcoming weekend which caused Steve to smile a little to himself.

  
The barely restrained frustration that Hopper displayed as he exited the Blazer in the hotel parking lot after three hours in the car, subsequently slamming the door shut, amused Steve. He couldn’t help himself and let out a deep belly laugh.

  
“You,” Hopper pointed an accusing finger at Steve as he circumvented the vehicle. “You knew that they would drive me crazy. You did this on purpose.”

  
Steve innocently lifted his shoulders, just remarking, “You think it’s bad now, just wait ‘til we get to the park. ‘Sides, doesn’t every family vacation need a disgruntled father?”

  
“Why you little…,” Hopper teased, mockingly wrapping his fingers around Steve’s throat like he was going to throttle him, but instead wound up putting him in a headlock. “C’mon, let’s go get checked into the hotel and get some dinner so we can get these monsters to the park before they eat us alive.”

  
By the time they accomplished all that and got to the gate to purchase the weekend passes, there were only a couple hours left to explore the park that night. The kids rushed impatiently past the ticket takers to enter the park. Their jaws dropped in awe at the large fountain sprawling the length of the main street that led into the park, but Mike couldn’t refrain from contributing a snide comment, breaking the moment. “Why is there a replica of the Eiffel Tower? It makes no sense.”

  
“ _That’s_ what you’re focused on? Seriously, Mike,” Dustin rolled his eyes in exasperation.

  
“Yeah. What we _should_ be focused on is getting the lay of the land so we can plan out the next two days,” Max recommended.

  
“Definitely. C’mon,” Lucas grabbed her hand and started to run off with the other kids closely following.

  
“Hey! Slow down,” Hopper bellowed, casting a sideways glance at Steve who was already lagging behind. “This ain’t no race, you hooligans! Have some respect for your elders.”

  
“Hop, stop. Let them be kids for once,” Steve hissed out of the side of his mouth. “Don’t make them hold themselves back on my account. We’re here for them.”

  
“We’re here for you, too,” Hopper started to argue.

  
“Yeah, so I could see them – all of us, really - have a good time. Why do you think I picked an amusement park of all places?” Steve crossed his arms and scuffed his shoe along the crack in the cement, looking down forlornly. The tiny movement sent an electric shock zinging from his toe all the way up his leg. “They deserve this.”

  
Joyce astutely deduced the emotions swirling around in Steve’s head and why it was so important to him, and quickly came to an unilateral decision. “Okay, but this is just for tonight.” She snuck a glimpse at her watch. “Park closes at ten. That means you all need to be back here at nine forty-five, and not a minute later. Got it? Jonathan? Nancy? Could you…”

  
“Sure.” Jonathan and Nancy had dutifully followed a few steps behind the other kids who had broken away from the pack. Dustin hesitated, only joining the others when he was encouraged to do so by a bright, reassuring smile and a wave of Steve’s hand.

  
“Why the hell did you let them go off and leave us – leave Steve – behind,” Hopper ground out angrily.

  
The three adults’ pace had slowed until it was nearly at a standstill. Steve sighed tiredly. “Because she could see that’s what I wanted. Don’t blame Joyce.”

  
Hopper was confused now. “Why? I thought you wanted to be able to see them enjoy themselves. Wasn’t that the whole point?”

  
“Yes, but…I don’t know. I’ve been fine at home, but I guess today – today was a lot more activity than I’ve been used to. I’m so, so tired and the neuropathy is unreal right now. They’d see that and hold themselves back for me which is what they’ve been doing all summer. And that’s exactly what I don’t want.” Steve let himself be guided over to a nearby table and sat down, dropping his head into his hands. “Once I get some sleep, I’m sure I’ll feel better, though.”

  
Joyce took the seat next to him and brushed a hand through his still somewhat sparse, but growing locks that were quickly filling in at the roots. “Oh, sweetie. Maybe, but the kids are going to want to be here from open to close the next couple days. Are you going to be up for being on your feet that long? Be honest.”

  
“I don’t – I don’t know,” Steve softly admitted. “But even if I’m not, I can hang back at the hotel so they can do their thing.”

  
“Nope. Uh-uh. Ain’t happening,” Hopper said firmly, remembering what Steve had said about all his prior family vacations. “I’ll carry you on my back if I have to, but you are _not_ missing out on this.”

  
Joyce chewed on her lip, scanning the area for an answer to their problem. The trio hadn’t made it very far from the entrance and her eyes landed on the ‘guest services’ booth. Coupled with what Hopper had just said an idea formed. She just wasn’t sure Steve was going to care for it. Joyce pulled Steve’s hands into both of hers. “Sweetheart, I know – I know how you feel about – well, there may be a solution. I know you hate it, but – but if you’re willing to, it might help you conserve your energy and keep the neuropathy from flaring up too much. We probably should have brought the one we have at home, but maybe – maybe we could rent a wheelchair here or something.”

  
Steve screwed up his face and ducked his head to disguise his reflexive visceral reaction. He downright _detested_ it, but he couldn’t exactly refute the option, either. It was a sound and reasonable suggestion. Torn between his pride and making the kids happy, which partially depended on his presence, it really wasn’t a contest at all. “Alright.”

  
Joyce patted his cheek affectionately and left to inquire about how they could reserve one. Hopper observed Steve’s fallen demeanor. “You okay there, kid?”

  
“Yeah. No. I don’t know.” Steve traced the diamond pattern on the metal tabletop with his fingertip. “I just thought things would be back to normal by now. _I’d_ be normal. But maybe I’ve been kidding myself. Maybe it won’t ever be.”

  
“Sure it will be. Your body is still recovering from a whole lot, and it’s not gonna happen overnight. You just gotta give it some time, and stop being so hard on yourself.” Hopper gave Steve’s shoulder a supportive squeeze.

  
Joyce returned a short time later. “Okay. All set.”

  
The next morning the group made a pitstop just inside the entrance to collect the chair that Joyce had reserved. The kids never questioned it as they stood just off to the side with Jonathan, aware that something had transpired yesterday evening. Steve fidgeted in place, self-conscious about the whole thing as Joyce accepted the sought-after item and ushered him to sit down.

  
They hadn’t even made it five feet from the desk when Steve couldn’t help but overhear the clerk regretfully informing the significantly older couple that had been waiting behind them that it was a particularly busy day and the people ahead of them had gotten the last one. He listened to the wife fret over how she would be able to get through the day, keeping up with the grandchildren in this heat while the husband attempted to allay her worries.

  
It was one thing to use it as a precaution, but Steve would have felt utterly ridiculous and even more ashamed of himself than he already did if he snatched it away from someone that required it more than him. He planted his feet on the cement to halt the forward momentum and rose, pushing the chair over to the couple as Joyce looked on, bewildered. “Here. I’ll be alright without it. You seem to need it more, so it’s all yours.”

  
“Oh no, young man. We couldn’t possibly,” the older gentleman was clearly flustered at the boy’s generosity.

  
“Steve, man. What are you doing? You need…” Jonathan trailed off as Steve shot him a warning look as if to say, ‘don’t fight me on this’.

  
The woman’s hand fluttered against her neck. “Are you sure?” Steve nodded and smiled as she eyed him uncertainly before looking to her spouse. “Well, I guess…you do seem healthy and able-bodied enough. If you’re sure.”

  
“Yeah, well. Looks can be deceiving, lady,” Mike barked at her testily.

  
“Can it, Wheeler,” Steve chastised over his shoulder through clenched teeth.

  
Dustin went for a gentler approach, resting a hand on Steve’s forearm. “Steve…I know how much you hate that thing, so if you agreed to it that must mean you really, really need it. Don’t do this.”

  
“I’ll be fine, Dusty.” Steve laid his own hand over Dustin’s.

  
“But-“

  
“I’ll be _fine_ ,” Steve reiterated before turning back to the couple and insisting, “Please, take it. It’s yours.”

  
They did so somewhat reluctantly, and when his friends tried to protest his big-heartedness, he immediately brushed them off and marched further into the park without commenting. Knowing that as far as Steve was concerned, the matter was closed and they weren’t going to get anywhere, they dropped it and wound their way to the first attraction.

  
Steve gulped as he got a good view of the roller coaster that consisted of just one big loop. “You – you want me to go upside down? On _that?"_

  
“Yeah. Don’t be a pussy, Steve,” Mike goaded as he grabbed his hand and tugged him towards the line.

  
He summoned up his courage as they were strapped into the ride, but couldn’t prevent the screech that ripped from his throat as they were sent ass over elbow in the air. Steve let out a huge sigh of relief as the cars came to rest at the top of the opposite platform. It was short-lived as the cars suddenly lurched in reverse. “You didn’t tell me this thing went backwards, too. Holy shiiiiiiit!”

  
Max flung an arm around his waist as they traversed the ramp off the ride. “I guess they don’t call it the ‘Screamin’ Demon’ for nothing, huh?”

  
Steve took a second to collect himself and catch his breath. “Whew. Okay, what’s next?” He shouldn’t have asked. The second destination was somehow worse than the first. “Oh no. This one goes upside down, too?”

  
“Yeah, but you stand up on this one. Isn’t it awesome,” Lucas exclaimed excitedly.

  
The corner of Jonathan’s lip ticked upwards at Steve’s obvious lack of enthusiasm for being flipped in the air. It disappeared, though, as he caught something out of the corner of his eye. The couple they had encountered at the start of the day was now joined by other members of their family. They still pushed the wheelchair in front of them as they strolled by – but there was no passenger. Jonathan’s irritation was only further amplified when he noticed Steve slouched onto the bottom rung of the metal railing as they waited in line, rubbing a hand over his legs to try to abate the numbness somewhat. It was early yet, but his posture revealed that he was clearly already weary and in pain.

  
The line moved slowly which Steve was grateful for. He wasn’t too eager to ride this green monstrosity and he was able to sit for a minute, getting a brief respite from the continuous tingling ache. The roller coaster was pretty smooth, but it still jarred his out-of-shape body more than he was comfortable with. Once they finally spilled off the ride, he couldn’t help but whine a little. “Please, no more upside down for awhile.”

  
“Alright. How about this,” Dustin pointed to a smaller wooden coaster that was just a short distance from the ride they just got off of. “The cars actually race each other. And one goes _backwards_!”

  
“Can’t we just go on a non-gravity defying ride? That goes in one direction,” Steve complained.

  
“C’mon,” Nancy gripped his hand. “Jonathan and I will do the forward one with you and we can race the kids.”

  
Steve relented and had to admit, he didn’t mind it too much. But the rickety wooden ride jerked his body around even more violently than the last two had and the soreness was immediately apparent. Once again, Nancy and Jonathan came to his rescue. “It’s almost lunchtime. Why don’t we round up Mom and Hopper and get something to eat?”

  
By the time Jonathan and Nancy were standing in a line for food with Hopper and Joyce, he once more saw the family passing by with no one occupying the seat of the wheelchair. Jonathan glared in that direction so fiercely that Nancy asked him what was wrong. “Nothing,” he replied, shaking his head as he scooped up the food and brought it back to the picnic tables.

  
Jonathan placed the food on the table before settling down next to Steve, watching as he picked at the food, very little making it into his mouth. It was incredibly hot and the temperature diminished everyone’s appetite, but for Steve it had also always been a telltale sign that he wasn’t feeling very well. The other give away was the slight wheeze and rattling that was barely audible, but still present, nonetheless. Jonathan leaned over and whispered, “Have you done your inhaler yet today?”

  
Steve stiffened a bit at the reminder and plucked the device from his pocket. He shook it and took two long pulls from it. A series of coughs were elicited in reaction to the medication hitting his lungs, but Jonathan was reassured when the unnatural sounds that had been coming from Steve’s chest dissipated after the small fit.

  
Keeping it on the tamer side with full bellies, the kids opted to go on the bumper cars and the merry-go-round after the meal. But the heat was getting to them, too and eventually they set their sights on the water rides.

  
“What about the log flume, guys?” Will pointed to the conveyor belt that lifted the fake logs filled with people up a slope before sending them zipping down the hill with a huge splash.

  
“Yeah. Good thinking, Will. And White Water Canyon is right here, too. We can do both. Steve,” Dustin sought his older friend’s approval as he refolded the map he had been carrying around with him and stuffed it back into his pocket.

  
Steve rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh, sorry, I can’t. I’m not – I’m not allowed. All the stagnant water and everything.”

  
“Oh right. Sorry. That’s okay. We can pick something else,” Dustin reached back into his pocket to consult the map again that he had just tucked away.

  
“No, don’t let me stop you. It’s hot as hell. And I could use a minute to sit, anyway.” Dustin locked eyes with Steve, and he tried to communicate that he really was fine with sitting this one out. Just in case Dustin wasn’t getting the message, he added, “I’m sure.”

  
“I’ll stay with Steve,” Hopper offered. “I can’t stand being in wet clothes.”

  
“Same,” Jonathan agreed. “Plus, I’ve got the camera. It can’t get wet.”

  
Nancy also elected to stay behind, leaving Joyce as the only adult to accompany the kids. Jonathan spent the time people watching, but his attention was always diverted back to Steve whose posture increasingly sagged and seemed to fold in on himself, and generally just looked more miserable as the afternoon wore on. He, himself, was close to melting and pretty worn out after only half a day, so he could only imagine how Steve was feeling under the same circumstances while also contending with all his issues and not having fully built back up his stamina yet.

  
Jonathan scrutinized the chestnut hair plastered to Steve’s forehead with sweat and the way he couldn’t suppress a wince every time he shifted on the cement bench. His body language just screamed pain and exhaustion. He placed a supportive hand on Steve’s thigh while exchanging a knowing look with Hopper. Steve graced him with a sad, tired smile before letting Hopper pull him in to lean up against him.

  
At a loss, because there wasn’t really anything that he could do to alleviate the situation, Jonathan continued scanning the crowd. Rounding the corner were the man and woman from earlier, once again rolling an empty wheelchair in front of them. This incensed Jonathan, and he was finally going to do something about it. Something that might help Steve, after all. He muttered an excuse to Nancy before rising from his seat.

  
Jonathan tapped the older man on the shoulder and cleared his throat. “Excuse me. Remember me from this morning? Yeah, hi.”

  
The man frowned at him before recognition set in. “Oh, yes. You were with that nice young man that volunteered to give this contraption up.”

  
“Yeah. About that...” Jonathan stuffed his hands in his pockets, not normally so brazen. “If you’re not going to use it, could we please have it back?”

  
“We’d prefer to hang on to it in case I need it later. I’m sure you understand,” the woman reached out a hand and Jonathan couldn’t prevent himself from flinching back. “No need to be so touchy.”

  
“There is. And no, I don’t understand,” Jonathan seethed, flinging an arm in the vague direction his friend sat. “Steve needs it _now_. Not as a ‘just in case’.”

  
“I’m sorry, but he said differently. And he certainly didn’t look like he was in dire need of it,” the woman contradicted him.

  
“Yeah, well apparently you don’t, either. But you can’t necessarily judge a book by its cover, can you?” Jonathan hadn’t felt an anger so deep and complete since he had driven to Lonnie’s house after Will disappeared, but for a very different reason.

  
“There’s no need to be rude, dear,” the woman said somewhat aghast, digging in her heels. “I believe I will use it as I’m beginning to feel a slight bit of discomfort.”

  
“A ‘slight bit of discomfort’? Are you kidding me right now? I _wish_ that was the only reason he needed it,” Jonathan gasped out as something inside him just snapped, the fiery protectiveness his mother so often exhibited transferring into his very own genes like it was a familial trait. “Not that it’s any of your business, but that ‘young man’ that you accepted the wheelchair from this morning has a lot more than just a ‘slight bit of discomfort’ to deal with from the last _two-plus years_ that he’s spent battling cancer. I’ve seen him in so much pain and so sick that he couldn’t pick himself up off the floor, let alone walk, so you’ll have to forgive me if once again, no, I don’t _understand_.”

  
Jonathan glanced off to the side to reign in his emotions. The kids bounded up to Steve and were animatedly describing the experience, complete with hand gestures. His mom was slower to rejoin them, more waddling than walking back as she dripped water from her soaked clothes. It would have been a funny sight, especially juxtaposed to the kids who were largely dry, but Jonathan was too far in his head to see the humor in it. “He’s in remission now. For the second time. But that doesn’t mean all his problems just magically went away. He may look fine, but looks can be deceiving. He’s still dealing with all the after effects and probably will for the rest of his life. You just – you don’t know what it’s been like. He’s been near death countless times and it’s a miracle he’s even here now and walking around at all. But like everything, it came at a price. Some days – some days, like today, he still really _struggles_. Just to do normal things. Everything we take for granted is so much harder for him. He never complains and tries to hide it for our sakes, but…If he was willing to even consider using the wheelchair today...”

  
Jonathan stopped himself, chest heaving, suddenly embarrassed that he had unloaded all their business onto strangers. “I’m, um, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I told you all that. I’ll go.”

  
The older gentleman reached out to grip Jonathan’s shoulder. This time he let him. “It’s okay, son. I lost my first wife to cancer and I know how truly devastating of an illness it can be. And how tough it can be to watch someone you care about go through it. You’ve probably been holding onto that for a long time. Your brother must be a truly special guy to have such a passionate defender. And the younger siblings seem to be just as enamored with him.”

  
Jonathan didn’t bother to correct him. A ghost of a smile touched his lips as he watched his biological brother wrap his arms around Steve’s neck and get a hair ruffle in return before skipping off to the second water ride of the day. “Steve’s one of a kind, alright. He’d give up the last life preserver to someone else even if he was drowning himself.” Jonathan pointed to the wheelchair. “Case in point.”

  
“Son…”

  
Jonathan thought he had finished, but perhaps the man was right. He’d been so worried about Steve and Nancy and all the others that he hadn’t stopped to give voice to his own feelings on the matter very often. “You gotta understand…Steve has always thrived off of pleasing other people. After how awful the last year was, he just wanted for us to come here and bring a little joy into our lives – have some fun - before we all go back to school. To college. Places he can’t go right now and maybe never will. He’s always been so focused on taking care of us and our happiness…keeping us safe…even when he was too ill to get out of bed. That’s just who he is. I just wish he wouldn’t do it at his own expense. He deserves to be happy and taken care of, too and not _suffer_ because of it. And I can tell – I can tell he’s hurting _bad_ , even if he won’t say it. So, if you could possibly let me take this back for him, we would all really appreciate it. Steve most of all.”

  
Surprisingly, the lady was the first to speak up. “Of course. If we had any idea…I just feel terrible now. We are truly sorry if we caused your family any more stress or turmoil than you’ve already been through. Your brother sounds like a remarkable young man and we certainly wish him and your family well.”

  
Jonathan clutched the handles, suddenly feeling shy over his verbose diatribe. “He is. And thank you. Sorry if I was a little over the top.”

  
“Nonsense. I think you helped give us a little perspective. And maybe yourself, as well. Just go make sure your brother takes it easy and is comfortable and has some fun. And those kids, too,” the man waved. “And bless you all.”

  
The older couple looked on as the boy who had just confronted them approached the slimmer boy perched tensely on the bench that they had presumed to be his brother, body rigid with plain discomfort. The boy named ‘Steve’ flashed a brilliant smile in response to his brother’s words, the sight pulling at their heartstrings even harder now that they were aware of the pain buried beneath it. Holding on, he allowed his forearms to be clutched tightly as he accepted the other boy’s assistance in getting him into a standing position. They watched sadly as the boy stiffly rose and shuffled his way into the chair with unsteady steps. “Oh, that poor boy. Such a kind and selfless soul. We need to make it up to them somehow.”

  
Jonathan couldn’t exactly tell them that he had blabbed Steve’s life story in exchange for the wheelchair, so he concocted a story about how he had hoofed it back to the gate to see if they had gotten any returned, and whaddya know - they had. And his fabrication also explained his prolonged absence and was plausible enough that no one questioned it. The relief shining in Steve’s eyes made it worth the lie.

  
This time, Joyce wasn’t the only soggy one when they came off the ride causing Steve to laugh at them heartily. “You all look like drowned rats.”

  
“Very funny, Steve,” Dustin groused, his mouth turned down in disgust at how gross he felt.

  
“At least we’re not hot anymore,” Max shook water off her head, spraying droplets everywhere like a dog.

  
“Hey, watch it, Red. Keep that nasty water away from Steve. Who knows what kinda Plague might be in there,” Hopper warned.

  
“Sorry,” she quickly apologized. “Maybe we can go on a coaster to dry off.”

  
Dustin consulted the map and a consensus was reached amongst the teenagers. They jetted off, ignoring the adults’ pleas to slow down. Nancy sent Jonathan after them, Hopper and Joyce hurrying right behind. “Go. I’ve got Steve. We’ll catch up.”

  
Jonathan raced off after the six kids as Nancy took control of the wheelchair and leisurely guided them down the path, passing a pond on their left. “I’ve ‘got Steve’? You make it sound like I’m some sort of package that needs to be delivered.”

  
“Well, you _are_ a pretty special delivery.” Steve tipped his head back as far as he could to look at her, moving his hand side to side in a so-so motion and shrugging. Nancy chuckled at his light-hearted teasing. “But seriously, how are you holding up with all…this?”

  
“Okay. Not great, but okay. As much as I hate to admit it, this thing’ll probably help,” Steve slapped the armrests of the wheelchair as they entered into an area surrounded by leafy bushes that provided some welcome shade. His tone was matter-of-fact, but there was an unmistakable underlying sadness there. “I likely would _not_ make it through tomorrow without it. I just wish I still didn’t need it sometimes. I’m only twenty, but I feel so ancient sometimes. Can’t even walk and stand around like a normal person. Pathetic, right? I just thought after that I…I just thought things would be better by now.”

  
“You’ll get there soon, Steve. You _will_. Until then, there’s nothing wrong with needing a little help. You’ve been through _so much_. Tell me you get that, Steve,” Nancy all but begged him to understand that fact as she pushed him to the end of the bush-lined path. It broke her heart to hear him be so self-deprecating and put himself down over something so uncontrollable. Steve had a bad habit of latching onto the negative perceptions of himself and magnifying them in his mind which Nancy knew she was partially to blame for reinforcing that trait. When he didn’t immediately answer, she repeated herself. “Steve? Please tell me you believe that.”

  
“Yeah. Sure,” Steve said offhandedly and unconvincingly, catching sight of the kids finally and grateful for the diversion. He glanced up at the blue and orange steel roller coaster that twisted and turned in all directions. “Oh no. This? You want me to go on _this_ with you?” Steve took a second to count with a finger extended. “It goes upside down _six times_!”

  
El stepped forward and clasped his hand. “C’mon. Fun.”

  
“Oh no. Not you too. Nance? Help?” Nancy only gave him a shrug. “Okay, but Nancy has to go on it, too.”

  
Nancy let her jaw drop with pretend shock. “Fine. Challenge accepted.”

  
“And Hopper, too,” Steve added mischievously, watching El’s eyes light up with excitement at the prospect of her father joining her on the ride.

  
The policeman flicked him in the ear. “Just you wait. I’m going to get you back for this, Harrington. I don’t know how yet, and you won’t see it coming, but I’m going to get you back.”

  
Steve prepared to get himself in the sizable line, but no one was willing to let him stand that long. The addition of the wheelchair made things a bit tricky, but they managed to work it out. An employee was alerted to their situation and let the large group up the exit ramp and helped load them on the ride.

  
When the group tumbled off the roller coaster, all of them were a little disheveled and slightly dizzy, but Hopper and Steve in particular had a greenish hue. “Okay, that’s it. Kiddie land for the rest of the night,” Hopper declared to shouts of protests, but he was an unmovable force. “Nope. You can be little daredevils again tomorrow, but that’s it for tonight. The Chief has spoken. Steve needs a break, isn’t that right, Steve?”

  
“Uh-uh. No, you’re not pinning this on me,” Steve refused as they started their hike to another section of the park. “I’m not the one with motion sickness.”

  
“Traitor.”

  
“We’re too tall for most of these rides, man,” Lucas objected as they passed under the rainbow arch signifying the entrance to the section geared more towards younger children.

  
“Not to mention they’re super lame,” Mike scowled.

  
“This one looks doable. Kinda like ‘It’s a Small World',” Dustin pointed to a dot on the map coinciding to the building they were standing in front of, trying his best to appease everyone.

  
“Fine,” Mike huffed, not losing his scowl, but following everyone into line.

  
It took both Jonathan and Hopper to steady Steve on the unexpectedly rotating floor and get him in one of the three rows in the boat. Hopper was in the front with El, while Steve and Dustin were in the middle with Jonathan and Will bringing up the rear. The others followed in the boat behind.

  
As they disappeared into the dark cave-like opening, their ears were assaulted with the melody of The Smurfs’ theme song on repetition. “Oh, Jesus Christ! You gotta be kidding me,” Hopper cried. “I’m gonna hop out of this boat and choke one of those little blue bastards so they can shut the hell up.”

  
Steve’s body was shaking soundlessly and uncontrollably next to Dustin who felt the quaking immediately. “Steve! Steve, buddy. Are you okay? Are you having some kind of fit? Talk to me.”

  
Steve snickered as tears rolled down his cheeks from trying to hold it in, in an effort not to further provoke Hopper’s building aggravation. That only made it funnier somehow. Finally, at Dustin’s misinterpretation of the situation, Steve could no longer control it and he erupted into gales of laughter. “Serves you right for trying to blame it on me. Take your punishment like a man.”

  
Hopper reached around to chuff him on the back of the head and got yelled at by a disembodied voice for his trouble. “Sir, please keep your hands inside the boat at all times and your hands to yourself.”

  
This reignited his fit of hysterics. Steve collapsed onto Dustin’s shoulder, breathless and weak from the sustained force of his laughter. Even Jonathan was barely suppressing a smile when he had to practically lift Steve out of the boat singlehandedly because his friend was still doubled over, clutching his stomach with glee, the giggles shaking his frame and leaving his legs nearly useless jelly. The other five didn’t quite get the joke and peered at them quizzically as they exited the ride.

  
“Well, at least now I understand why there’s blue ice cream all over the place,” Max quipped.

  
Her innocent comment sparked pleas for the cold treat which is how Jonathan, Nancy, Joyce, and a couple of the kids wound up standing in line for the blue confection while the others waited in the adjacent seating area. Will was relaying all that had happened to Max and Lucas whose eyebrows shot higher and higher on their heads in amusement as the tale went on. Jonathan was looking down and half-listening with one ear and listening to Nancy’s follow-up questions with the other. He failed to notice two familiar individuals several people ahead of their group.

  
Jonathan ordered the eleven cones and passed them off as they were handed to him until he was the last one standing there. He dug into his wallet to pay. “Oh no, sir. It’s taken care of.” Jonathan just gave the girl a puzzled look and she explained. “There was an older couple a few people ahead of you. They said to tell you they’re sorry again for earlier and wished they could do more than just buy ice cream to make up for it, but your brother and your family will be in their thoughts and prayers.”

  
He was speechless and spun around looking for them, but they were long gone. He numbly ate his ice cream as dusk fell and the neon lights came up, mulling over the strange, but not unpleasant kindness that was extended after a fairly rough start to the day, and what it all meant. Jonathan decided it didn’t really matter. What mattered was how much fun Will and his friends were having, how relaxed both his mom and Hopper looked for a change, and the unguarded serenity that glowed around Steve like an aura in response to all their joy.

  
This had been Steve’s goal all along, to create moments untouched by the Upside Down or his illness or any of the other horrifying scenarios the world seemed to be rife with. And judging by everyone’s content faces, he had succeeded spectacularly, but today easily could’ve been very different. If only one thing had been slightly altered unfavorably in the previous months, this could’ve been a much darker reality where this blissful scene never had the possibility to exist because _Steve_ no longer existed. Except in their memories.

  
It was a sobering thought and, as the fireworks began exploding over their heads, Jonathan had an even more defined concrete understanding of just how fleeting and rare times like these were. Not that he hadn’t known that beforehand on some level after nearly losing his brother and Steve on multiple occasions, but today had solidified the notion of just how important it was to take every opportunity to grab onto and cherish these moments – and each other - whenever possible. And he also knew how lucky they were that once today was over, they would be able to return to the hotel and come back tomorrow to do it all over again and add to their expanding catalogue of pleasant memories.

  
The next day was fairly uneventful. Their first stop had once again been the ‘guest services’ desk. Before the group got too rumpled and wind-blown, they had taken a family photo in front of the fountain, Jonathan handing over his camera to a stranger with reticence to snap a few shots.

  
Steve was sore in places he didn’t even know he had muscles, but having the wheelchair from the beginning of the day had been helpful. He willingly let the kids take charge and push him towards all the rides they didn’t hit yesterday, one specific destination saved for their last hurrah.

  
Dustin made a sweeping, grand gesture with his arm at the sign that marked the entrance to the line of their ultimate objective. “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the piece de resistance. The main attraction and crown jewel of the park. The longest wooden roller coaster in the world, ‘The Beast’.”

  
“I don’t even see it. Where is it,” Steve wondered.

  
“Hidden deep in the woods. That just adds to its mystique and legendary status. So, let’s go on a quest to find it,” Dustin declared theatrically before he led him through the lengthy and winding line that disappeared behind a wooden structure, as if they were indeed entering into another realm.

  
The roller coaster had certainly earned its title and by the time they were cresting the lift on the second hill that nearly matched the height of the first hill, unexpectedly dropping them through a dark tunnel on the initial plummet, Steve was bitching at all of them for dragging him onto this never-ending ride. “I hate you all, I hope you know that. This is torture. Two huge hills, tunnels, fast twisty things…”

  
“Helixes. The term you’re looking for is helixes.” Steve just glared at Dustin, his seatmate. “Relax, Steve. Just enjoy it, buddy.”

  
“Relax? Are you fucking kidding me?” The time spent on the second lift hill just made the whole experience even more anxiety-inducing. Steve’s knuckles were so white they were virtually invisible. Dustin fought to pry his fingers from around the metal bar. “What the hell are you doing? Dustin, stop…seriously!”

  
“It’s more fun this way.”

  
“Are you _insane_ ,” Steve cried incredulously.

  
“Would you stop with your hissy fit and just try it once? C’mon, I’ll even hold your hand, you wuss.” Dustin managed to loosen Steve’s grip a bit. “Arms up. C’mon, we’re about to go down. Just let go, Steve. Let go.”

  
“Oh God. After everything, _this_ is how I’m going to go out. Right here. On this hill,” Steve rambled dramatically as he screwed his eyes shut tightly and surrendered, raising his arms fearfully towards the sky. Dustin at least kept his promise and grabbed his hand, pushing it up further in the air. ‘I’m going to get you back for this, Henderson.” Dustin’s surname trailed off to a hoarse scream as they plunged downwards, banking at a sharp angle as they were hurtled through the one hundred and eighty degree turns.

  
The general consensus on the drive home was that ‘The Beast’ was among everyone’s favorite, but there was an ongoing debate over the other top rides. Steve had mercy on Hopper and shuttled Dustin, Lucas, and Mike into Joyce’s car. He and Joyce had more patience with their loud arguments than the policeman did, and Steve figured he had earned the break. But by the time they got home, all Steve wanted to do was plug his ears and fall face-first onto the couch and not move for a week. Too bad he had promised the kids he would take them to their first day of Sophomore year tomorrow morning.

  
Jonathan and Nancy had to turn around and leave for college immediately after returning to Hawkins in order to be back for classes. Steve went to lay down after they left and wound up sleeping right through until morning.

  
He corralled the kids at the crack of dawn and got them to the doors of the high school on time, but came back home and took another nap before heading out to pick them up. It took nearly a week for him to be caught up on sleep, the trip draining him more than he felt it should. No one else seemed surprised at his fatigue, though.

  
A couple weeks later, they were all nursing colds, including Steve. Joyce and Hopper bundled him up and forced him to see the doctor, but other than a lot of sneezing and coughing, he was perfectly fine. Hopper banned him from leaving the house, or the bed or couch in general, so Steve filled his time by recounting their trip to Robin while he dabbed at his cherry-red nose and sipped the hot tea she had made for him to soothe his scratchy throat.

  
Once he was fully recovered, he resumed taking the kids to and from school, but there was nothing else to do and he grew restless. Steve broached the subject of getting a part-time job and the doctors released him to do so, but Hopper strictly forbade it. It was too soon, he said. Steve rolled his eyes but obeyed. He tried cleaning once more, but Joyce nixed that again really quick.

  
There was almost nothing left to do besides sit around and watch soap operas, and that was out of the question. One of the only alternatives left was cooking. He made an elaborate dinner every night and baked during the rest of the time. Steve made so many cakes and pies and cookies and breads that every day he was sending something home with the kids or Robin or with Hopper to the station. He had even shipped some off in care packages to Nancy and Jonathan, but there was still plenty lying around the Byers’ house, too.

  
Finally, around Thanksgiving, Joyce dropped by the station and cornered Hopper. “You gotta let Steve get a job, Hop.”

  
Hopper let out a light chuckle as he poured a cup of coffee. “Why? Is he making you crazy?”

  
“No, he’s making me _fat,_ ” Joyce poked at her stomach. “Actually, he’s a joy to have around, but he’s going stir crazy being stuck in that house all the time and I can’t blame him.”

  
“I appreciate the sentiment, but I don’t want him doing anything where he’s on his feet all the time or too physically taxing. I know you all think I’m being too overprotective, but it was only earlier this year that Steve was…he was…he was almost _dying_ , Joyce. Strike that. He _was_ dying.” That word left a more bitter taste in his mouth than the sludge he was drinking. “And the transplant itself nearly killed him, too. You were there, Joyce. His heart and lungs will never be the same. And it’s cold and flu season now. Way too risky.”

  
“Steve had a cold back in September like the rest of us, remember? It wasn’t any worse than any of ours’ and he recuperated just fine,” Joyce reminded him. “Look, all your points are valid and I get why you, of everyone, are especially cautious with Steve.” The insinuation of Sarah remained unspoken but was clearly understood. “I get all your concerns. I truly do because I have them, too, but Steve has fought so hard for his life and he should be able to live it however he chooses. Not how we think he should just because we want to keep him in a safe bubble. That isn’t a _life_ , Hop. It isn’t. And dontcha think Steve, more than anyone, has more than earned the right to decide what he wants to do with it?”

  
Hopper sighed and continued to sip at the hot liquid as he contemplated Joyce’s persuasive words. Letting Steve integrate back into the world and regain some sense of normalcy filled him with an immeasurable anxiety that he wasn’t sure he could even put into words. This was a boy who he had performed CPR on when an infection nearly claimed his life, laying broken and lifeless by something a person with a normal immune system could fight off. The same boy who broke down in his embrace when he relapsed, questioning his own strength to go through it a second time. The very same boy who Hopper held in his arms in the bleak days leading up to the transplant, his faint and irregular breaths stuttering and threatening to give out in his barely conscious and heart-breakingly fragile state under the policeman’s hands.

  
Seeing Steve in that shape had instilled a fear in him like he had never known before, and one that was not necessarily so easily shaken off by the passage of time or with the improvement in Steve’s health, but Joyce was right. Steve hadn’t scrapped and clawed and struggled against the odds with every ounce of strength in him just to be kept prisoner in the house after all was said and done. He deserved better. He deserved more. “Alright. I’ll think of something,” Hopper promised.

  
A solution had all but fallen into his lap right before Christmas and Hopper was eager to share the news. He stopped by Joyce’s in the middle of the afternoon, knowing Steve would be alone.

  
Steve was surprised to see him unannounced, but stepped aside so the cop could enter. “What’s up, Hop?”

  
Hopper removed his hat and gestured to the couch with it. “Take a seat, kid. I got something to discuss with you.”

  
Steve furrowed his brows, not comprehending but settled himself onto the worn cushions. He had the irrational feeling that he was guilty of something, but he didn’t know what it could possibly be since he rarely left this house.

  
“So, Joyce tells me you’ve been bored out of your skull and need to get of the house more.” Swallowing hard, Steve nodded hesitantly, unsure of where this was leading. “Well, maybe we can help each other out. I have a little proposition for you.”

  
Steve remained quiet, afraid if he broke the silence, whatever Hopper was going to offer would vanish into the ether.

  
“Flo dropped a bomb on me today. It seems that she’s looking to retire – or at least, partially retire next year. I mean, the woman _is_ pushing seventy, so it shouldn’t have been such a surprise. But that leaves me in a bind. She knows everything, and I mean everything – and everyone – that comes through that station. She’s like my right-hand-man, and she’ll be tough to replace, but it’s gotta be done.” Hopper leveled Steve with meaningful look. “You interested?”

  
“Me,” Steve squeaked out. “But I thought – I thought I wouldn’t be able to get past the physical part?”

  
“Ain’t talking about the police academy, kid. The most physical thing about her job is some light filing and typing. Answering phones and the radio, dispatching, that sort of stuff. Oh, and also wrangling yours truly,” Hopper grinned mischievously.

  
“Me,” Steve repeated, jabbing a finger at his own chest. “Am I even qualified?”

  
“The only qualification as far as I’m concerned is being trustworthy, and there’s no adult in this entire town that I trust more than you. Except maybe Joyce. It’s a lot of responsibility, but I think you can handle it.” Hopper fixed him with an appraising smile. “So, whaddaya say? You up for the job?”

  
“Yeah. Yes,” Steve blurted out enthusiastically, but the doubt lingered in his expression. “But my grades…I barely graduated high school. You said it yourself – it’s a lot of responsibility. Are you sure I’m smart enough? What if I fuck it up?”

  
“Steve, you’re plenty smart enough. Steve, look at me. You _are_ smart,” Hopper caught the wildly gesticulating hands in his own. “There’s way more to this than book smarts, okay? Being able to recite Shakespeare or solving a differential equation isn’t going to do jack squat in this line of work. I need someone that can tell the difference between a true emergency that requires my attention or a silly dispute I can turf to my idiot deputies. I need someone that can keep a cool head in a crisis. I need someone that’s _people_ smart, and you fit that bill. You got great instincts, kid and a protective streak a mile long that makes you a natural for policework. And as far as responsibility, you’re practically another parent to those kids. In some cases, maybe the _only_ real parent. And you’ve managed to keep them from killing themselves with their reckless schemes because they actually listen to you. So, that said, are you in or not?”

  
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m in. I’m in! Thanks, Hop,” Steve professed his gratefulness, not only for the job but all the praise that Hopper had given him, including his unwavering belief and trust in him. It was still a rather new feeling, but one he had learned to accept faithfully from the man seated across from him.

  
“Don’t thank me yet. There’s some extensive training that needs to happen. It’d probably be best to wait until after the holidays. And I want to stress this is part time. _Only_ part time for now until we see how your body handles it.” Hopper gripped him around the back of the neck to assert the gravity of his next words. “And there are some other rules that are nonnegotiable. If you are sick, you stay home. No arguments. If you are not feeling well, or even feeling a little off, I need to know immediately. No bullshit. No pretending you’re okay. I need complete honesty because this job is not something you should gamble your health on. Nothing is. You’ve been through far too much to try to prove something. You are far more important to me than having this position filled. Got it?”

  
“Yeah. Yeah, got it,” Steve readily agreed, touched by the sentiment.

  
“I need you to promise me. Say the words, Steve,” Hopper stared him directly in the eyes.

  
“Okay. I – I promise.”

  
“Good. Welcome to the Hawkins Police Department, kid.” Hopper pulled him in for a hug.

  
Severely disappointed, but staying true to his word, Steve had to come to Hopper only a couple days before he was due to begin his training in January and admit that he wasn’t feeling his best. “I think I might be getting a cold, Hop.”

  
“Okay, kid. I appreciate you being straight with me,” Hopper told him. “Let’s see what happens.”

  
Unfortunately, as it turned out, his introduction to the law enforcement field _did_ have to be delayed because the cold had developed into a tenacious case of bronchitis that required a visit to the doctor and a prescription. Heading towards the end of the week and halfway through the course of antibiotics, it wasn’t improving at all and Joyce brought him back to the doctor who ordered stronger antibiotics, steroids, and additional breathing treatments given Steve’s history and weakened pulmonary status.

  
By Sunday night, the situation wasn’t any better and Joyce’s worry grew exponentially at Steve’s increasing lethargy. He spent all day in bed which is something he hadn’t done since before the transplant. Will fretted every time Steve let out a harsh, rattling cough that sounded like it was ripping his chest apart. “Mom…”

  
“I know, honey. He’ll be okay. The medicine just needs time to work,” Joyce tried to reassure her younger son. She checked on Steve and took his temperature frequently. Glancing at her watch, she pushed herself away from the table. “Actually, it’s about time for another treatment. Maybe that’ll help some. I’ll be right back.”

  
Joyce hurried down the hallway, pausing in the doorway of Steve’s room as he emitted a few more abrasive barks in his sleep. She perched on the bed and gently placed her hand on his cheek to rouse him. It was burning with a heat that was almost painful to the touch causing her breath to catch in her throat. “Steve, sweetie, I’m going to take your temperature. Can you open for me?”

  
She slipped the thermometer under his pliant tongue and waited anxiously for it to beep. When she pulled it out, she audibly gasped. “Wake up a bit more for me, sweetheart. That’s it,” Joyce soothed, striving to keep her voice even and free of panic. She got him started on his breathing treatment and succeeded in getting him to hold onto it while she left the room to call the after-hours number.

  
The mouthpiece had slipped from his lips and the machine was only loosely held in his grasp by the time she came back into the room. Joyce readjusted the device so he could get the medicine properly and spoke to him softly and calmly as she stroked a sweaty piece of his hair out of his eye and away from where it had been plastered to his forehead. “Steve, honey, you’ve got a really high fever. It’s almost a hundred and four.”

  
Steve cracked his eyes open and regarded her blearily at that statement. He heard what she said, but couldn’t quite register it through his haze. All he could focus on was how cold Joyce’s hand was as the woman continued to play with a strand of his damp hair, causing him to release a violent shiver.

  
“The doctor wants me to get you to the emergency room. Says it could just be a nasty bug, but not to take any chances because it could also be pneumonia.” Steve frowned deeply, still trying to process everything as Joyce removed the breathing apparatus and set it to the side. “Hopper’s going to meet us there. Do you think you can sit up for me so we can get you ready to go to the hospital?”

  
 _That_ finally sunk in. At the mere mention of that abhorrent word, something in Steve broke open. The last time he had gone to the hospital, he had spent four months there. He assumed that after the transplant, he was finally past all that. All he could think was: _Notagainnotagainnotagain_.

  
Steve was half-delirious and felt so awful that there was nothing left in him to stop the tears from forming and slipping free to run down his face. Steve barely noticed Joyce wiping the droplets from his cheeks as she quietly murmured to him and carefully bundled him in his winter jacket and layers of blankets before ushering all three of them out the door.

  
Lain in the backseat, sheathed in blankets, Steve’s head rested on Will’s lap. Nausea flared from his midsection with the repetitive rocking motion of the car, but Will’s nimble fingers combing through his hair distracted from the unpleasant sensation. Steve would’ve thanked him if he hadn’t been so drowsy. Time slipped sideways and the next thing he knew, strong arms lifted him out of the car and carried him towards the automatic doors reflecting back flashing red lights. That was the last coherent thing Steve remembered, the rest coming to him in jumbled bits and pieces.

  
As soon as Hopper picked up the unnaturally still form of Steve, he knew the boy was bad off before he could even feel the heat radiating off of him. He laid him on the gurney and stepped back so the staff could unwind the blankets he was wrapped in to assess him. He gave them a brief history as they hooked Steve up to various machines before they sent Hopper back out to the waiting room with Joyce and Will.

  
It seemed like an eternity, but in actuality it was only an hour before the trio were shown to the cubicle where Steve was being treated. Before the chest x-ray had even been read, it had been decided that Steve’s oxygen levels in his blood were too low and he was far too dehydrated for him to be released tonight. Steve would be admitted and while he waited on a bed, they were permitted to sit with him.

  
The oxygen and fluids, combined with a cocktail of medications, had perked him up a little bit. Hopper graced Steve’s half-lidded gaze with a tired smile before patting him affectionately on the shoulder. “You gave us quite a scare. How ya doing there, champ?”

  
“Just great, Boss,” Steve croaked. He had taken to calling Hopper that lately, half as a joke and half out of reverence to his newfound position. Steve realized what he said and wheezed out a laugh which caused him to cough. “Worst employee ever. Haven’t even shown up to work yet and I’m already calling off sick.” Steve had to pause to take additional breaths causing the words to be spaced out more, the effort slowing his usual cadence.

  
“Yeah, well…better than having to call off dead. Just don’t worry about that for now, kid. Save your breath and just focus on getting better. The job’ll still be there waiting for you after you get healthy again,” Hopper told him firmly, but kindly.

  
Steve inhaled deeply through his nose and exhaled before speaking again. “So, I’m not, like, fired? Or prohibited from working ever again because of this?”

  
“What gave you that idea? Of course not!” Hopper sat down in the cheap plastic chair next to the bed and placed a calloused hand over Steve’s clammy wrist. “But I do want you to be one hundred percent, healthy as a horse before you step foot in the station. So, shut yer yapper and save some oxygen for that brain of yours because I’m going to need it to be sharp and firing on all cylinders when you do start.”

  
“Promise,” Steve mumbled as his eyes drooped further and further down.

  
“Yeah, I promise. You kept up your end of the bargain by being honest about being sick, so the least I can do is hold up my end.” Hopper let his hand slide down to grip Steve’s. Joyce held the hand on the other side, careful to avoid the oxygen monitor clipped to his finger. “Now get some rest, kid.”

  
Once Steve dropped off, Joyce regarded him with an odd look. “What do you suppose that was about? What made him think of that now?”

  
“No idea.” Hopper shrugged. “I know it’s important to him and it’s probably been bugging him. Fevers can distort things and pull things from the subconscious. Listen, you and Will should get home. Winter break’s over and he’s got school tomorrow. Not to mention someone needs to drive the kids. You know that’s the first thing this one here is going to ask about when he’s more coherent.”

  
“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. Will?” Joyce held out her hand to her youngest son as she rose and collected her coat.

  
The pair cast a glance at Steve before leaving, not wishing to wake him up for a goodbye that he wouldn’t likely remember. Hopper shifted uncomfortably in his chair, and spent time analyzing the readings on the machines. Sometimes an alarm would beep briefly before going back into the normal range. Hopper knew enough that no alarm was a good thing and an alarm sounding meant something bad, but he didn’t understand what the wild fluctuations indicated. The policeman had plenty of time to ponder this as it was quite awhile before anyone came back into the room.

  
A doctor Hopper hadn’t met yet entered. “I just wanted to let you know that a bed is ready, and young Mr. Harrington will be moved shortly. Also, the radiologist has had a chance to review the films.”

  
“And,” Hopper prompted as patiently as he could which wasn’t very much given the late hour combined with his worry.

  
“It’s still very likely we’re dealing with pneumonia, but there are some clinical features that aren’t very congruent with cases that we typically see,” the doctor informed him. “But unusual presentations are not that unheard of with transplant patients due to their compromised immune systems.”

  
“Meaning,” Hopper’s tolerance for wading through the medical doublespeak was vanishing at lightning speed.

  
“There’s some fluid collecting around his lungs, and his white blood cells are significantly lower than we would expect for a bacterial infection.” He paused to let that sink in. “But we’ll get him started on some strong medications, so no matter what it is, it should fight it.”

  
Hopper drug a hand through his scruff, regretting having to ask the question, but not being able to put it out of his mind. “It’s not been quite a year since his transplant. It was a little rough going at first, but he’s been doing pretty well. This isn’t – this isn’t a sign that his cancer came back? Is it?”

  
“His bloodwork doesn’t seem to support that, and this is not how it usually presents without any other symptoms, but we’ll consult with oncology just to be sure. I know it’s easy for me to say, but try not to worry, Chief. We’ll get to the bottom of it.”

  
“’Kay, thanks,” Hopper dismissed as he turned his attention back to Steve.

  
Over the last eleven months or so, Steve had done everything in his power to carve out a normal life for himself. He had balanced his doctors’ visits – and there were _a lot_ -with his babysitting duties. He chauffeured the kids around town in between the numerous blood draws and tests, strategically interspersing the time with his friends with his strict medication regimen, never missing a beat – or a pill or an appointment.

  
Steve had been so excited at the prospect of this job and entering the workforce as a contributing member of society, despite his misgivings about _why_ Hopper was offering him the job. But Hopper had been telling him the truth – there was no one that he thought was better suited for the position in both temperament and a deeply instilled sense of duty. Steve had more than earned it and had cemented himself long ago - ever since the Upside Down business - in Hopper’s mind as one of the most capable, competent, and trustworthy people in this town.

  
Ever since Hopper had mentioned the job, Steve had been eagerly anticipating the opportunity to focus on anything other than his health and being able to get out of the house for a purpose other than transporting the kids. To not have to limit himself to housewife duties and to become something more than just sick all the time. To finally move beyond his cancer and the role of perpetual patient. If that chance was being snatched from him before he could even experience it…

  
Jim was certainly no stranger to the unjust bitch life could be, and how it didn’t discriminate between good or bad, rich or poor, men or women, adults or children. And yet the sheer, blatant unfairness of it all still boggled Hopper’s mind sometimes. The mere thought that he might be staring one of those instances right in the face sent sick dread twisting in his gut. Steve was so close to getting his future back on track after everything. The policeman just hoped he hadn’t inadvertently lied to Steve earlier and it was just a simple bump in the road – a temporary delay – and not a complete derailment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The amusement park in this part actually exists. Points if you can name it. Double points if you've actually been there. And I didn't want to make the couple in this part too big of jerks. They weren't mean so much as oblivious, I guess. If you've made it this far, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it! This year has been taxing, so do something nice for yourself - and for someone else! Stay safe!


	18. Goodbye Today

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even with a setback, Steve is able to get his life back on track and right where he wants it. He starts his job, continues as babysitter/chauffeur extraordinaire, celebrates his twenty-first birthday (with Hopper and Joyce in a bar), teaches Dustin to drive, and even comes face-to-face with Billy Hargrove again, managing to come out of it relatively unscathed. But will it all come crashing down?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always tell myself the next part will be shorter, but then it somehow manages to be longer. There was an awful lot packed into this part. TW for heavy discussions and topics having to do with Steve's illness. As always, thank you for taking the time to read this story and happy reading!

Perceptions had an enigmatic way of being skewed within this ostensibly ordinary concrete structure, as if the very construction materials themselves had been sprinkled with a potion that magically and mysteriously separated it from the laws of physics that governed the rest of the natural world. Time existed in a vacuum, simultaneously standing still and chewing away the days with a ravenous hunger. Night became day, day became night, and seasons ceased to exist altogether.

  
The colors within were both muted and filled with fluorescent lighting that was so bright it was almost blinding. The sharp, biting scent of the antiseptic was overpowering, but not strong enough to drive back the underlying hint of decay that lingered in the air. The deafening symphony was a discordant composition, fashioned not only from the rejoicing melodic beeps thrumming with life, but also the piercing monotone wails that devolved into a hush more reminiscent of a graveyard.

  
The snow visibly whipped and pelted against the pane at the opposite end of the hallway where the older teen waited. Although the two windows remained the same distance apart as they were when Robin had first arrived, with every step her friend advanced towards her, the corridor artificially elongated and like a mirage in the desert, Steve seemingly grew further away from her. He was just one more of the many dichotomous fixtures within these walls. The cancer had been kept at bay, but the impact of it had not. He was not well, but also not sick enough to stay here anymore. Steve was suspended in the amber, a permanent resident of the purgatory between his disease and the ghost of it that still haunted him.

  
It _had_ been pneumonia, but it wasn’t as simple and uncomplicated as the usual, garden-variety case. Nothing ever was with Steve anymore. It had taken over a week of failing to respond to the numerous antibiotics and a bronchoscopy to diagnose the culprit as a fungal organism that had opportunistically attacked his lungs, a phenomena not unheard of in people on drugs that suppress their immune system. But it was incredibly serious and more difficult to treat.

  
The stress of the infection overwhelmed his fragile immune system and resulted in a cascade of events that culminated in another bout with rejection that once again targeted Steve’s already unstable respiratory tract, but this time it couldn’t be beaten back into submission. It could be _managed_ , but the lung biopsy and the CT scans and the pulmonary functions tests had revealed that Steve would always be combating this microscopic enemy on the cellular level, otherwise known as a form of chronic graft versus host disease, and that it had chosen to make its uninvited home in one of his vital organs.

  
The infection had eventually been eradicated, but the damage imparted by the concurrent rejection was irreversible. The scarring – _fibrosis_ – caused by the war his body fought against the cells erroneously identified as foreign, would never significantly improve. The best that could be hoped for at this stage was to prevent it from worsening. Steve was currently being evaluated by the respiratory therapist to see just how extensive the impairments were and what kind of assistance he might need, if any, at home. It wasn’t going well.

  
Robin watched as the respiratory therapist got her friend settled into the chair beside the bed before clipping a monitor onto his finger and reattaching the oxygen. It wasn’t an easy feat given that Steve was unintentionally uncooperative because he was too focused on gulping for the air he had been deprived of, his chest concaving worriedly with each inhalation. “Well, I don’t think what I’m about to say will be much of a surprise to you, but my recommendations are to maintain the inhalers and scheduled breathing treatments as you’ve been doing, and to remain on the continuous oxygen at home. You dipped down into the low to mid-eighties without it there, which isn’t good.”

  
“Will…,” Steve was unable to finish. His lips continued to twist into shapes, but lacking sufficient air, it was too great an effort to formulate the words. He flopped his head back against the headrest in defeat.

  
Robin crossed the room and sank down onto the edge of the bed next to the chair. She rubbed circles between his shoulder blades. “Just take it easy. Breathe, Steve. She’ll wait until you’re ready. She won’t go anywhere, will you,” Robin challenged as if daring the therapist to defy her.

  
“Just breathe in through your nose. Out through your mouth. Purse your lips. Just like we practiced.” The woman in the royal blue scrubs guided Steve through several cycles of breathing until he was less strained. “That’s it.”

  
Once Steve had gathered himself a bit more and regained some precious oxygen, he finally posed the question that was on his mind. “Will this – will this ever get…any better?”

  
“Not all the way,” she informed him honestly. “But your body is still very weak from fighting the infection. With some exercises and therapy the goal is to get you to the point that you would only have to use the oxygen sometimes. When you’re doing a lot of activity or at bedtime, that sort of thing. Not necessarily at rest. The important thing to remember is that you can lead a perfectly normal life with it.”

  
Steve nodded and rolled his head lazily to the side, effectively dismissing her before muttering a barely audible, “Yeah, sure.”

  
It was then that Robin realized that Steve’s eyes were positively _drowning_. Her hand grazed his flushed cheek, and she tilted his head back towards the bed, forcing him to look at her. “Hey. Hey, dingus! None of that. You heard her. You’re going to be able to do everything like before, including using that sassy, sarcastic mouth of yours to drive me crazy. Nothing’s going to change except you’ll be doing it with tubes up your nose. It’s just a bump in the road. Not even a bump – a – a…pebble.”

  
Steve blinked furiously, the wetness not overflowing, but clumping his lashes together. His voice was suddenly so quiet and withdrawn. “I don’t know how many more ‘bumps in the road’ I can take, Rob. I’m so tired of this. God, every time I get close – get close to having a real _life_ …something like _this_ …Now? Now…”

  
“’Now’ nothing, Steve!” She pressed her thumb into his other cheek, squeezing and inadvertently knocking the oxygen tubing askew. “You’re going to get out of here in the next couple days and pick up right where you left off. And you’re going to _slay_ in your new position as the gatekeeper of the Hawkins PD.”

  
Steve readjusted the tubing as he scoffed, provoking a few residual coughs. “No way in hell Hopper’s going to go for that now once he hears this verdict. I’ll probably never be able to leave the house again.”

  
Robin moved her hands down to his forearm. “From what I can tell, Hopper’s a pretty reasonable guy once you get under his grizzly bear façade. Just talk to Hopper about it before you go making assumptions.”

  
“Talk to Hopper about what,” the policeman cut an imposing figure in the doorway as he appeared and leaned against the doorjamb.

  
Steve glared in Robin’s direction, clearly not ready to have the conversation her newly overheard remarks had instigated. There was no way Hopper would let those comments pass without receiving some kind of explanation though, so when Steve pouted silently, Robin took matters into her own hands. “They’re getting Steve here ready to vacate the premises soon, and he’ll be leaving with a fashionable yet very practical accessory. Seems our wonderboy is the reluctant winner of a lifetime supply of oxygen.”

  
Hopper’s chin dropped to his chest momentarily before lifting it again to look Steve in the eyes. “This true, kid?”

  
Steve crossed his arms and bit his lip, vaguely nodding. Robin once again interjected on his behalf, “Yeah, and for some ridiculous reason he thinks that means you won’t ever let him out of the house again. Translation: you won’t let him anywhere near the station to ride the desk and force him to stay home and surf the couch instead. Crazy, right? Especially after they literally just told him he could do anything he wanted as long as he kept his little plastic friend on his face. I told him you’d never do that to him. Would you, Sheriff?”

  
Hopper appraised Robin, his knee-jerk reaction to chew her out for being so openly bold and audacious and almost defiant of his authority. But he also admired her jump-right-in, take-no-prisoners willingness to go to bat for Steve, no matter what the cause or how she needed to accomplish her goal – even if it meant confronting the Chief of Police himself for her friend’s benefit. She was a good ally, and it was a trait the policeman fully understood because he happened to share it. “Is what she said true too, kid?”

  
Steve stared bashfully at his lap, embarrassed to admit his doubts aloud over how this latest setback might impact him. “Yeah. All of it.”

  
There was a lengthy pause before Hopper spoke, as if he were deeply contemplating the situation. Finally, he sighed. “Look, before I go off half-cocked and jump to any conclusions, I’ll agree to hear what your doctors have to say. I can’t guarantee I’ll buy what they’re selling. But you’re an adult, and you’ve been dealing with stuff like this for a long time now and know better than anyone how you feel, so you’re entitled to give your input and make your own decisions about it. So, you? _You_ I’ll listen to. That much I can promise you.”

  
The tension visibly bled out of Steve’s frame at the pleasantly surprising faith Hopper had just displayed in his judgement concerning his health. Hopper had given him the courtesy of acknowledging that nobody knew his own body better than Steve himself. But it was so much more than that, too. It was a deference and a level of respect that Steve had historically never been afforded by another adult until Hopper and Joyce came along. To be treated like he wasn’t a total screwup and was indeed fully capable of making intelligent choices. “Thanks.”

  
Once Hopper had left briefly to get a cup of coffee, Robin used the opportunity as an ‘I-told-you-so’ moment. “See? Hopper’s a big ole – and fair, by the way – softie. And you were worried? Everything’s going to work out, oh ye of little faith.”

  
Instead of responding and giving Robin the satisfaction of conceding that she was right, after all, Steve changed the subject and chose to focus on something else she had said. “So, if I’m the Gatekeeper in this scenario…does that make you the Keymaster? Or would that be Hopper,” he joked.

  
“Shut up, Doofus,” Robin playfully shoved his shoulder. “And nice reference, by the way! Too bad your nerd herd wasn’t here to hear how they’re rubbing off on you.”

  
“Yeah, well…they tend to have that effect. But if they get wind of what I just said, I’ll never live it down,” Steve feigned a groan. “So, zip it, Buckley.”

  
“Not a chance.”

  
Steve laughed heartily. He appreciated how easily it came to him when he was around Robin, despite the less than stellar news that he had just received. It was a quality she possessed that he was incredibly grateful for and kept at bay a certain trait of his that he had an unfortunate propensity towards - wallowing too much in his own self-pity.

  
As promised, Hopper had an in-depth discussion with Steve about his recent setback, including how it would affect him and what his wishes ultimately were. He also listened to the so-called experts’ opinions. They all amounted to the same thing – Steve continuing on with his life normally as envisioned, the only divergence to his plans the fact that he would have to do it while dragging a tank behind him from now on. The only additional stipulation the doctors set forth was that Steve should spend the first week out of the hospital at home to recuperate and adjust to the logistics of carting the oxygen around with him. Just a week of convalescence was all that was required by the medical professionals, but Hopper made him take three.

  
The extra weeks at home meant that the weather was breaking a bit, and the first signs of Spring were peaking through. Steve admitted to himself that perhaps Hopper knew better than the doctors because the milder air was more forgiving to his lungs than the sharp and stinging Winter winds had been. But he wasn’t going to tell Hopper that and endure the smug looks tossed his way.

  
Steve nervously stepped through the door of the station on his first day with Hopper right by his side. His anxiety reached new heights when everyone stopped what they were doing and peered at him curiously, further stoking the fires of his self-consciousness.

  
Hopper nudged him gently in the ribs with his elbow. “If you think they’re staring at you because of the way you look and what you got hanging from your nose, you’d be wrong. They’re staring at you ‘cause you’re green. The new guy. And they’re trying to figure out how to screw with you, but don’t worry. I gotcha, kid.” Hopper’s voice boomed and reverberated throughout the small office. “Because no one’s gonna screw with Steve here, are you? Because if they do, they’re going to have to answer to me! Are we clear?”

  
The small din that arose from Hopper’s executive declaration quickly died down, but Callahan couldn’t keep his mouth shut as Steve walked past. “Teacher’s pet,” he said amicably enough, but it was laced with a hint of contempt.

  
“What’s the matter, Phil? Jealous,” Flo taunted back before gripping Steve by the elbow and leading him over to where two desks sat butted up against one another. “Ignore him, darling. He’s always bitter when someone younger, better looking, and isn’t a complete moron threatens his manliness and surpasses his rung on the bottom of the ladder. And Hopper actually _likes_ you, unlike Barney Fife over there. And you know what? I think I do, too. You must be something pretty special for that man to take you under his wing and hold a position open this long for you.”

  
Steve matched Flo’s welcoming smile and felt compelled to apologize for his prolonged absence. “Yeah, about that. I’m sorry that you had to wait on me so long. You probably could’ve had someone else trained enough by now.”

  
“The way I hear it, you didn’t have any control over that, did you, darling?” Flo pinched his cheek above the clear tubing much like Steve imagined a grandmother would. Except, he wouldn’t know because he had never met either of his. “Hopper thought you were worth the wait, and I’m inclined to believe him. That man doesn’t put stock in too many people and open himself up very often. So, like I said, you must be something else.” Flo studied him seriously for a moment before deciding to say what was on her mind. “I take it you know about his daughter? Sarah, I mean.”

  
Steve nodded, throat clicking dryly as he swallowed.

  
“Good. Then you _do_ understand how special you are and how much you mean to him. That man in there,” Flo pointed to the now-closed office door before patting Steve on the arm, “wouldn’t risk putting himself in the same position for just anyone. As long as you get that he’s fighting for you just as hard as you’re fighting for yourself, we’ll get along just fine.”

  
“Noted,” was all Steve managed to squeak out. Of course, he _knew_ that and _felt_ it, but _hearing_ it still rendered him speechless with the sheer magnitude of its implications. The love that was bestowed on him by people who up until a few years ago were virtual strangers to him when his own parents couldn’t grant him that same grace still overwhelmed and confounded him, but he would do absolutely anything to return the sentiment and prove that he was worthy of their affection.

  
“Good. Let’s get started.” Flo pulled a book thicker than Webster’s dictionary out from the desk and thumped it on top of the pressed wood, causing Steve’s eyes to comically widen. “This book contains all the police codes. Don’t worry, you don’t have to memorize it. It’s for reference, but give it time. Some of it might stick.”

  
When lunchtime arrived, Hopper allowed Steve to retreat to his office to do his treatment in private. The Chief took the opportunity to confer with Flo over their newest employee. “How’d it go this morning?”

  
Flo yanked the cookie from his hand and replaced it with a stick of celery, eliciting a scowl from Hopper. “Your boy certainly is a sweet one. I can see why you and those kids are so smitten with him.”

  
“I know he’s a good kid, Flo. I asked how he’s taking to the job,” the policeman frowned at the green vegetable and tossed it back on her desk like it had burned him.

  
“He’s a bit like a deer caught in headlights, but everyone is when they first start. He’s willing to learn and eager to please you which is a winning combination. Your instincts haven’t failed you yet, so I’m sure he’ll be great.”

  
“Thanks for doing this, Flo.”

  
“No need to thank me, Chief. You’re both doing me a favor, and don’t tell the others because they’ll eat him alive, but he’s already my favorite.” Flo was direct, and usually held nothing back, but she was uncertain whether to share the particular thought running through her mind until Hopper raised his eyebrows at her expectantly, prompting her to just come out with it. “It never seems fair, does it? How cancer never seems to hit the assholes of the world. Just the good ones like Steve. And Sarah.”

  
Flo didn’t wait for a response because there wasn’t any need to. She went back to her desk, and when Steve returned, she resumed instructing him on the inner workings of the station. The rest of the afternoon went smoothly, and she felt comfortable enough to spend some time in the filing room while Steve typed up a report.

  
Hopper sauntered over, trying to appear casual, but it was obvious to Steve that he was checking up on him. “How you doing there, kid?”

  
“Good. You know…good.” Steve’s respirations were a little heavier and his words were a little more spaced out.

  
Fear flared up in Hopper’s chest at the obviously strained breathing. Maybe Steve hadn’t recovered enough. Or the infection came back. Or today was too much for him – too long of a day. Maybe his body couldn’t handle a job, after all. A myriad of possibilities raced through the policeman’s mind, and several grim scenarios. That was, until something caught his eye, and he didn’t know whether to be peeved, amused, or a combination of both. “Feeling a little short of breath there, sport?”

  
“What? N-no. No,” Steve lied before thinking better of it. “Okay. Yeah.”

  
Hopper pointed downwards and directed a wry smile at Steve before bending over and opening the bottom drawer of the desk. “Next time be more careful and don’t close the drawer on your oxygen hose. You cut off your supply there, kid.”

  
“What? Oh. Oh!” Steve exclaimed, cheeks burning crimson at his oblivious mistake and wanting nothing more than to crawl into the drawer he had just reclosed and hide away in shame.

  
The sheepish expression Steve wore for the rest of the day over his clumsiness was entertaining at first, but as time elapsed and Hopper observed the boy break a sweat toiling with the tank he had no choice but to lug around behind him day in and day out, it evoked a deeper, less amusing sympathy. It was cumbersome and exhausting for Steve to have to lift it up stairs or weave around obstacles with it only to have the wheels of the carrier catch on corners, stealing some of the air from his lungs that it was supposed to provide as he fought to disentangle the very heavy, yet very necessary object.

  
After weeks of watching the struggle without coming up with a viable solution that didn’t involve not wearing it at all, the policeman approached the younger kids with the dilemma. He figured that with all those brain cells between them that at least one of them could solve that particular puzzle. He was proven right only a short time later.

  
Will had come up with a design that Lucas executed. They presented it to Steve on his twenty-first birthday, just before Hopper and Joyce whisked him away to the local watering hole to have his first drink – at least legally.

  
“You can carry it around like a backpack. Will designed it to be sorta like a firemen’s, except, you know, more covered and adjustable to the different sizes depending on what you need,” Lucas proudly explained.

  
“Yeah, and Lucas came up with a really cool addition,” Will bragged on his friend’s ingenuity as they guided the tank into the holder and showed off the features. “There’s a stand that can flip out on the bottom so when you take it off, it can sit on the floor securely without you having to worry it’s going to fall over or something.”

  
“You guys! This – this is amazing! This will be a _huge_ help. I don’t know what to say,” Steve wrapped one arm around each of the boys.

  
“You don’t have to say anything. Just go have fun and get totally sloshed. Happy Birthday, man,” Dustin went in for a hug of his own.

  
“Oh, please…someone take pictures,” Max giggled.

  
“I feel bad leaving,” Steve hesitated.

  
“Don’t feel bad. We’ll do cake tomorrow,” Mike assured him, slapping his hand before smirking. “That is, if you’re not too hungover.”

  
“Watch it, Wheeler,” Steve warned playfully as he hopped into Joyce’s backseat, stuffing his newest accessory between his legs on the floorboard, Hopper already occupying the passenger side. “Be good and don’t get into any trouble while we’re gone.”

  
“Hey pot, I’d like to introduce you to the kettle,” Dustin called after the retreating car, hands cupped around his mouth. It was no surprise when Steve’s hand emerged from the backseat window and flipped them off.

  
The parking lot was fairly packed for a Sunday night. Hopper slung his arm around Steve’s shoulders as the trio entered the bar to a bevy of raucous greetings. “This? This here’s my boy and it’s his twenty-first birthday, so set ‘em up!”

  
Steve glanced around his shoulders and raised his eyebrows at Joyce. “Did he start without us?” She only shrugged, open-mouthed, and as taken aback as he was. “Whatever. I’m glad you’re driving.”

  
They grabbed a booth in the back next to the jukebox, the only one open in the whole bar. Joyce and Steve sat, the latter removing the backpack slung over his shoulders and setting it next to him. Jim leaned against the table. “I’m heading up to the bar, so pick your poison.”

  
Joyce chose a water and a beer she would nurse all night. Steve just told the policeman to surprise him. He truly didn’t care, and he wasn’t even sure how well any of it would go down. Once, Steve’s life had consisted of weekend parties where the beer flowed unendingly and the occasional bottles of whiskey and vodka would make the rounds, but since his first diagnosis he hadn’t really drank. There simply wasn’t the opportunity, nor did he have any real desire or taste for it during that time when just getting regular food and drink in him was an uphill battle.

  
The pair followed Hopper with their eyes as he slowly made his way through the throngs of people to the bar, being stopped and frequently pulled over to a table to chat for a minute. “Boy, he sure knows a lot of people,” Steve commented off-handedly.

  
“Well, Hawkins _is_ a small town, and he _is_ the Sheriff. And instead of locking people up over petty crime, Jim prefers the lecture method. Lots of petty crime, so he does a lot of talking. It’s a very popular tactic in this town, but I suspect it has more to do with the fact that he doesn’t want to babysit anyone in the slammer and fill out all that paperwork. But now that you’re there, who knows,” Joyce kidded.

  
Steve’s eyes danced in merriment at Joyce’s assessment, but his expression quickly fell once he discovered a pattern to all the pitstops. Hopper would exchange a few words and then all heads would swivel towards their booth while he continued to animatedly converse and point and beam in their direction. “Why – why does everyone keep staring at us? And why does he keep encouraging it?”

  
Joyce set down the matchbook she had been toying with and enfolded his hand in hers across the table. “Oh, honey. You really don’t know, do you?” Steve shook his head, puzzled and unsure of what she was getting at. “I don’t really know what he was like with Sarah, but…well, when El came along, he had to keep her hidden to protect her. That tendency is still there. But with you? _You_ he gets to show off. He wasn’t allowed – none of us were – to tell everyone how incredible you were during, all the, you know…How you jumped right in and saved lives and kept the kids _safe_. But the last few years? Well, it’s a small town, like I said, and everyone knows your…situation. And Jim has been going around since the beginning, telling anybody who’d listen in our little part of the world just how tough and brave and _strong_ you’ve been. How hard you’ve been fighting. What a great person you are and what a good influence you are for the kids and how much they love you. How much _we all_ love you. And how he handpicked you to take over for Flo because you’re the perfect fit and have got such a good head on your shoulders. He’s so _proud_ of you. We all are, sweetheart.”

  
“Proud?” It’s not like Steve had never heard the word used in association with himself from these wonderful people – Hopper included - but it was still, even years later, a difficult concept to wrap his mind around and accept after an entire childhood of the polar opposite being drilled into his brain.

  
“Are you really that surprised?” It was a rhetorical question because Joyce understood that given his upbringing that yes, indeed he was. Steve needed that constant reminder after years of neglect, and she would freely give all that he had been lacking for so long and repeat it however many times it took for it to sink in. Joyce had to stretch her petite frame across the table to rest a hand upon his cheek.

  
Steve nuzzled into her touch almost unconsciously before imparting a mild protest. “But I haven’t really done anything special. Just survived, is all.”

  
“Oh sweetheart, you’ve done so much more than you realize. You’ve shared your _life_ with us. Your _heart_. And I’m sure it wasn’t easy for you, to take that risk. But I’m so glad you did and let us see what Dustin knew from the minute he teamed up with you – that you weren’t just a pretty package with nothing underneath. How absolutely gorgeous you are on the inside, too.” Steve’s sharp intake of breath stuttered out as Joyce traced her thumb just above the oxygen tubing. “It was no accident that Hopper called you ‘my boy’ when we first walked in. These past years we’ve watched you change and grow into this amazing man, even with all the _terrible things_ you’ve been through. We may not have raised you, but it feels like you belong to us – both of us. All of you kids do, really. I hope that doesn’t upset you or make you uncomfortable. That we feel so… _parental_.”

  
“What? No. No, of course not! Sometimes it still baffles me, but…” Steve studied the marked and scarred table with intense interest, suddenly becoming painfully shy at the resurfacing of the dismal musings once buried deep below his subconscious. They were so menacingly nihilistic, but that didn’t make them any less fact. And they all deserved to know that the scope of their kindness and love saved him from surrendering and jumping off a proverbial cliff. “If – if it wasn’t for you guys…I don’t think – I don’t think I’d be sitting here right now.”

  
“What do you mean by that? Steve,” Joyce implored, tipping his chin up with her finger to force Steve to look her in the eyes. Something in his tone insinuated a much more profound and darker significance to his statement than it first appeared. “Sweetheart?”

  
“It means – it means that…” Steve took a moment to collect himself, turning his head as he swallowed hard and rapidly blinked away the stinging sensation penetrating his eye sockets, finding it difficult to give substance to the shadows that once danced across his brain. He sniffed with determination and faced Joyce again. “I probably would’ve given up by now. Maybe – maybe the first time I would’ve still fought through, but the second time and everything that came after? I don’t think I would’ve seen the point. I probably would’ve just let myself…let myself…The kids – _you guys_ – gave me a reason to keep going.”

  
Joyce’s face crumpled in on itself at that heart-breaking confession. That this beautiful boy might have relinquished his hold on life because he erroneously questioned its very worth without anyone to care for him and love him and prove to him otherwise. But the fault never lied with Steve. It lied with everyone around him that failed him over and over and over again.

  
She rose and still careful of the tubing, slid herself next to Steve in the booth and wound her arms around him in a bone-crushing embrace, pulling him in and threading her fingers through his thick strands in an almost desperate fashion. “Oh, honey. We’re so thankful that you’re still here with us. So, so grateful. You’re such a blessing and we are here for you always. And you are so very _loved_. Please, please remember that. Don’t ever doubt it.”

  
“I – I won’t,” Steve whispered, voice cracking and tremulous with emotion. He hadn’t doubted it in a very long time. Sometimes he thought that the cancer was the best thing that had ever happened to him because without it he would still see himself as broken beyond repair. Discarded and forgotten like common trash. A lost cause. But with the cancer, came the ability to experience love without any stipulations or conditions or strings attached, and allow wounds that had once been open and festering for seemingly eternity, to begin to heal and scar over.

  
“Hey, hey, hey! Why the long faces? It’s a celebration, so let’s get to celebrating,” Hopper set their drinks down sloppily as he slightly swayed on his feet, clearly having imbibed in more before making his way back to the table. “We’ve got a lot of time to make up for since your last birthday was spent in the hospital. Hopefully, this one’s better. Happy Birthday, kid!”

  
Hopper raised his glass in the air and Steve picked up his glass of whatever amber concoction that was being served to him and touched it to the policeman’s already half-emptied drink. “Already is. I’m not sure what this is,” Steve gestured vaguely to Hopper, “but, it’s entertaining. And I’m sure I’ll get a lot of blackmail material out of it.”

  
Joyce elbowed Hopper sharply in the ribs, interrupting whatever retort was about to fly out of his mouth, and clinked her beer bottle to the other two clear glasses. “Happy Birthday, Steve! And may you have many, many more.”

  
As the evening wore on, more and more drinks were sent to their table from people Steve didn’t even recognize. Hopper had passed tipsy a long time ago, and Steve was quickly approaching the same level, his tolerance markedly decreased by the medication and his general avoidance of alcohol in the recent past.

  
Joyce was their anchor and safety net in their drunken stupor. There was a hazy recollection of Hopper punching keys on the jukebox and dancing to a classic rock tune or two. Steve was horrified to recall the next day that he may have sang along. He had also apparently demanded that he have a cigarette so loudly and persistently that Joyce marched him outside and secured his oxygen a safe distance away from him so it wouldn’t set him and the place ablaze, and let him light one just to shut him up. Steve had goofily grinned at her as he choked and hacked his way through it before she yanked it out of his hand and stubbed it out on the concrete, replacing his oxygen and muttering, “I hope you enjoyed that because it was your _last one ever_.” Also adding, “I’m _such_ a bad influence. Stubborn men. Just be glad it’s your birthday, but never again.”

  
Both Hopper and Steve awoke in the cabin the next morning – or afternoon – each nursing a monstrous headache and not quite sure how they got there. A glass of water and pain relievers were set next to them with a note that instructed them to: _Take these, shower, and be at my place at 5 o’clock sharp. Or else I’ll get my hands on the security footage and show everyone the duet you sang to REO Speedwagon_.

  
“Oh shit!” Steve shot up from his prone position on the couch intending to haul his sorry, aching ass into the shower immediately, but the jackhammer reverberating around his skull slowed his actions. “Did we actually do that?”

  
Jim groaned at his own pounding head and lit a cigarette. “Don’t know. Probably. How you feelin’, kid?”

  
“Like I drank the entire town of Hawkins,” Steve exaggerated melodramatically.

  
Hopper laughed at Steve’s hyperbole. “Just get your butt in the shower, kid. I think Joyce means business.”

  
By the time Steve made it home his head had faded to a dull roar, but Hopper still looked rough as he hunched over the steering wheel. The dinner Joyce was cooking didn’t do the policeman’s stomach any favors, either. When he could no longer fight the urge to expel the remnants that had yet to be absorbed into his bloodstream, Joyce couldn’t resist throwing a jab his way: “What’s the matter, Jim? ‘Can’t Fight This Feeling’…anymore?”

  
“I _told_ you guys they’d be hungover,” Mike grumbled in disgust.

  
“Maybe he’s not hungover. Maybe he’s just sick of looking at your face,” Steve quipped, glancing around for Dustin to share in his mirth – and possibly come to his defense, if needed – but the younger boy was nowhere to be found.

  
Eventually, Steve located him on the front porch, legs dangling and swinging from the lip haphazardly. It was highly unusual for Dustin to remove himself from the festivities, but what was even more unsettling was his reserved exterior. Normally, he was bouncing off the walls with exuberance, but now he was more subdued. Something was definitely wrong.

  
Steve sat himself on the top step next to his friend, bumping his shoulder lightly into Dustin’s, careful to keep the oxygen tank balanced on his back so it didn’t slip. “What gives, bud? What’s wrong?”

  
“Huh? Oh, nothing,” Dustin said distractedly, as if noticing him there for the first time.

  
“Right. Sure. I believe you.” If Steve’s sarcastic tone wasn’t evidence enough for his disbelief, he followed it up with, “That was a lie, by the way.”

  
“It’s not a big deal,” Dustin dismissed. “Really! We can talk about it later. It’s your birthday.”

  
“Well, technically my birthday was yesterday. And if something’s got you this down, it _is_ a big deal. At least to me.” Steve let an arm rest atop his friend’s shoulders as he warmly encouraged him, “So, spill.”

  
Dustin sighed, propping his chin in his hand. He wasn’t very adept at hiding things, and Steve wasn’t going to let this go, so he might as well explain. “Mom was supposed to take me to get my temps this weekend, but she got called into work. Now she can’t. This is the third time she’s had to put it off. I’m _never_ going to be able to drive at this rate.”

  
“Dusty, why didn’t you say something before,” Steve kindly admonished him. “I’m not doing anything. I could take you.”

  
“You’ve got your own stuff and besides, I need my mom’s signature to take the written test and all that jazz,” Dustin picked shyly at his fingernails.

  
“Well, true,” Steve began, “but couldn’t she like, sign it beforehand or something? Get it notarized or something?”

  
Dustin’s expression brightened. “Steve, that’s actually…a great idea!”

  
“Don’t sound so surprised,” Steve feigned offense at the comment. “Just look into it, and if that works, I’d be happy to take you.”

  
“Steve, did I ever mention how awesome you are? Like, the literal best,” Dustin fawned.

  
“Maybe once or twice, but keep at it. I like where this is going.” Steve gave him a squeeze to show he was only kidding. “Is that all? Or is something else on your mind?”

  
“Well, since we’re on the subject…If my mom doesn’t even have time to take me to the DMV, I doubt she’ll have time to help me with the actual driving part. El has Hopper. Not that he’ll let her drive until she’s like, thirty-five or something. And I don’t think Will _wants_ to drive yet, but when he does, he’ll have Mrs. Byers and Jonathan, when he’s home. Same with Mike. He’ll have Nancy and Mrs. Wheeler,” Dustin rambled. Steve held up a hand to stop him, but the younger teen continued on undeterred. “Lucas has both his parents, too, and I think even Max said Susan would teach her. All I have is my mom, and she’s always so busy working which I understand, but…it’s just, how am I going to get my hours in? Steve? Would you – _wouldyouteachmehowtodrive_?”

  
The last sentence was said in such a rush, but honestly, Steve wasn’t all that shocked at the request once he was able to decipher it. He’d already expected that to be the case – maybe even with Max, too, but he was less enthusiastic about that scenario. He had been an unwitting passenger when she’d taken out a mailbox, after all. And he told Dustin as much. “Don’t worry, I had already planned on it. Summer’s right around the corner, and it would give us plenty of time to practice. Might be a good time to learn how to fix a flat and change your oil, too.”

  
“Really,” Dustin asked incredulously. “Wait. You know how to do those things?”

  
“Yeah. Sure.” Steve pulled back and realized Dustin was beholding him with a wondrous and slightly skeptical expression. “What? Don’t look at me like that. I’m not a complete idiot. I do know _some_ things, you know?”

  
“Believe me, I know. It’s just…you’re going to let me drive your car,” Dustin posed tentatively.

  
Steve hadn’t thought of that particular aspect, but he should’ve given that the Hendersons only owned one vehicle, and if Claudia was working, that meant she would have it with her.

  
“Of course, dipshit. How else are you gonna learn,” Steve tugged on the brim of Dustin’s hat playfully, pulling it down over his eyes. “But if you dent my car, I’m gonna dent your _head_. Got it?”

  
“Message received loud and clear, my brother from another mother. You won’t regret this. I’ll treat your car like the finest china. Like butterfly wings. Or spun glass. Or, or…” Steve rolled his eyes and clamped a hand over Dustin’s motormouth to halt the never-ending stream of words pouring from his younger friend’s mouth. But he did it in jest, relieved that it was a problem he could solve, and Dustin was back to his old, talkative self.

  
The first time Steve took him out was the day after school ended for the summer, and he quickly figured out that Dustin wasn’t exaggerating about the care he would take with the BMW, especially with Steve as the passenger. “Okay, seat in position. Check. Mirrors. Check. Seatbelt. Check. Steve, you got your seatbelt on?”

  
“Dustin, you haven’t even started the car yet.” The teen just glared in his direction, refusing to put the key into the ignition until Steve had clicked his belt into place. “Fine. Happy now, _Mom_?”

  
“Not helpful, Steve.” Dustin faced frontwards again and twisted the key. “But yes, very. After all you’ve survived, I’d hate to think it was an accident caused by my novice driving that took you out.”

  
Oh. There it was. The real, deeper reason for Dustin’s hesitancy was Steve and not just his inexperience behind the wheel. It was said in such a nonchalant manner, but there was more than a ring of truth to the statement. “Relax, Dustin. I’ll be okay. Nothing like that is going to happen because you’re gonna do great. I know it, and I trust you. We just have to build up your confidence, is all.” Dustin still looked uncertain, so Steve enclosed his hand around his friend’s that rested on top of the gearshift.

  
Although initially reluctant to say it aloud, Steve had been painfully cognizant of the date today. He couldn’t help but be. Rather than call attention to it, he chose to privately mark the milestone in his head not wishing to project his tumultuous thoughts into the universe and potentially impede Dustin’s concentration during his first driving lesson. But maybe it was something he needed to share with Dustin, after all, to put things into perspective and help allay the boy’s anxieties. If nothing else, it would reinforce just how resilient Steve was. “Do you know what today is?”

  
“June first. So what,” Dustin knitted his eyebrows together in confusion.

  
“Yeah, June first, aaaaand…it’s been three years today, do you realize that? Today is my anniversary – _cancerversary_ , I guess. Three years ago today everything changed and things like _this_ …” Steve lifted his head to hold Dustin’s gaze with his own sincere stare, conveying the significance of the landmark and all that he left unspoken. “Dustin, look, I know you’re nervous, but I’m sure your driving isn’t going to be an issue. I have faith in you. You’ll be careful and won’t do anything that’ll hurt either one of us. Plus, just by being here today and being able to help you with this, I’ve already beaten the odds, so I highly doubt driving around a parking lot is going to change that. I only had like, what, a less than fifteen percent chance of being here right now. But I’m _still here_. That has to mean something, right?”

  
“Sonofabitch, Steve. I shoulda realized. It just doesn’t seem like it’s been that long, but it also feels like it’s been way longer at the same time. I guess you’d know that better than anyone,” Dustin said slightly in awe, his lisp faint but still present. “Jesus! You’re just so important to me. If something happened…After everything…If I caused…”

  
“Trust me, you won’t,” Steve emphatically reassured him.

  
Dustin chewed on his lip in consideration. Steve’s conviction was so strong that he had no choice but to believe him. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess you’re right. I may have my reasons, but I guess I am being a little fanatical about it. Or, as El would say, I’m being stupid. There is one thing you _are_ wrong about, though. You being here? Right here, right now? It doesn’t just mean something. It means _everything_.”

  
“You’re right. It really, really does. Thank you.” Steve pulled his friend into his arms, the console digging uncomfortably into his hip, but he ignored the twinge. “I’ve only been cancer-free for a little more than a year, and I guess technically I have a lot longer to go until I’m considered ‘cured’, but I’ve made it this far. It’s the longest stretch I’ve had, and that’s a good sign, right? A sign that I’ll make it?”

  
“A great sign,” Dustin readily agreed, squeezing harder, his hand coming up to cup the back of Steve’s head. The hair tickled his fingers and that made Dustin so damn happy. Not because he cared about something so superficial, but because the voluminous tresses were another indication of Steve’s restored health. “Cancer’s got nothing on you, buddy. It never stood a chance.”

  
Steve let out a watery chuckle before separating himself to comb through the contents of the glovebox. “Yeah, well… Couldn’t have done it without you guys, that’s for damn sure.”

  
Dustin studied the curve of Steve’s back and how his ribs were no longer hauntingly jutting out. “Yeah, you could have. You still don’t get your own strength sometimes. But I’m glad you let us help you and you didn’t have to. You won’t _ever_ have to. ‘Alone’ is no longer a word that fits into your vernacular. Got it?”

  
“Yeah.” Steve fumbled around until he discovered a stack of forgotten napkins in the back of the compartment. He laughed, embarrassed at his emoting as he removed the prongs from his nose and swiped at the ends to clear the snot before also rubbing it away from his nose. “I guess this is what I get for being so sappy.”

  
“That makes two of us.” Dustin stretched his hand out. “Hand me one of those, will ya?”

  
Once they had both composed themselves enough, the driving lesson finally began, and they continued smoothly throughout the summer – without anymore emotional breakdowns. Unless, one counted, in a moment of frustration, Steve snapping at Dustin that he drove like a grandma and to step on the accelerator because it wasn’t going to break, _dammit_! But Steve had been right – Dustin was a natural and exceled without incidence, just like he had predicted.

  
Claudia took a vacation day to accompany Dustin to his driving test, but Dustin still insisted Steve tag along since he responsible for getting him this far. It worked out, too because Steve let him use the BMW which was the vehicle he had first learned on and was used to.

  
Steve felt like a nervous parent as Dustin climbed behind the wheel and backed the car out from the parking space. The floor-to-ceiling window gave him a full view and he couldn’t refrain from speaking words of encouragement and commanding instructions at it, even though he knew full well that Dustin couldn’t hear him. “No, no, no. Watch the cones, Dusty.”

  
Claudia clutched his biceps as she twisted and coaxed his body away from the glass. Steve craned his neck to get a better view. “Relax, dear. He’s doing fine. He’ll _do_ fine. He had the best teacher.”

  
Mothers must always know best because before there was a complete anxiety-induced meltdown on Steve’s end and he had chewed his nails down to nubs, Dustin came flying through the door with the biggest smile ever recorded and could barely stand still long enough to pose for his license picture. Steve took him out for celebratory ice cream afterwards – with Dustin driving his car, of course. There was a hint of melancholy to Steve’s tone when he wistfully observed, “Guess now that you and Mike and Lucas have your licenses, you won’t need me or my taxi services anymore.”

  
“God, Steve. You’re such a dumbass sometimes. That’s so not true. None of us have our own cars yet,” Dustin pragmatically stated, licking his dripping ice cream cone. “But even if we did, we’d still _need_ you to take us. You’re not getting rid of us that easy. We like our Steve-time too much.” Steve just arched his eyebrows in disbelief and Dustin sighed dramatically in response. “I swear, sometimes you have the thickest skull. You haven’t figured it out after all this time? Steve…we still _want_ you around. Not because of your wheels, either. Or your advice because to be honest, it kinda sucks. Just for… _you_ and your winning personality. Wanting to spend time with friends and family you love is something normal people do. And you’re all the above.”

  
“Gee, thanks. Um, I – I don’t know what to say to that,” Steve scratched the back of his neck, awkwardly accepting the compliment before returning it. “The feeling’s definitely mutual.”

  
“I know. You don’t have to say anything. Well, except that you’ll get me more ice cream,” Dustin pleaded with his eyes as he popped the last bit of cone into his mouth and held up two fingers. “Two scoops this time, Steve. Two.”

  
“Jesus. The things I do for you twerps,” Steve rolled his eyes good-naturedly as he stood and heaved the tank onto his back. Dustin felt a little guilty about the extra steps it took for him to move from one spot to another but had to remind himself that that was the way Steve wanted it. He didn’t want to be treated any differently and would’ve taken more offense if Dustin had demanded that he get it himself. As Steve became more forthcoming and got better at communicating his distress, however inconsequential it seemed, the more everyone was comfortable with him pushing himself harder and getting closer to performing all the tasks he did before he fell ill.

  
Steve was now working at the station three days a week – two of which he was flying solo without Flo beside him. On those days he would drop the kids off at the high school on his way in and Robin would pick them up, the latter having elected to take a gap year between high school and college to save up some money. On the other days, Steve handled both trips.

  
In between car rides and his job, Steve had developed a familiar and soothing routine. He would either bake on his off days or clean, or just generally help Joyce around the house with whatever she needed. The one constant was that he usually was doing all of it in solitude now that Joyce had resumed her normal full-time schedule. So, it was unexpected when there was a knock on the door one late October morning.

  
Steve swung open the door. “Max! What are you doing here? School – I just dropped you off a couple hours ago. Did something happen? Where’s everyone else?”

  
Max pushed her way into the house and opened her mouth to answer, but nothing came out at first. Steve led her over to the couch and sat her down. She fiddled with her sleeves as she spoke. “I got called to the office. My mom was there. Neil’s dead.”

  
“Wait…what?” Steve took a moment to absorb what he’d been told. He knew of the complicated family dynamics, some of it by things Max alluded to and some she outright confided in him, but even more of it by the little tidbits he’d observed over the years. All of it infuriated him on her behalf. Max’s expression, however, was unreadable. “I’m, um…I’m sorry?”

  
“Don’t be. I’m not,” Max spit out sharply. “Don’t look at me like that. I know you probably understand better than anyone else why I’m not.”

  
“Yeah. I do,” Steve agreed softly, his head dropping at the implications and the inability to shield her from the pain a broken homelife could inflict, some aspects of which he had lived through himself.

  
“I know. And I’m sorry, too. For both of us. Not because of Neil,” Max clarified as she sought his hand with her own. “I only told you that to tell you this: Neil was Billy’s Dad which means he’ll be coming back for the funeral. And he wants to see me.”

  
Steve had to tread very carefully here. “What do you want?”

  
“I think I do. I mean, maybe we both need a little closure. But Billy won’t set foot in that house again, and I somehow don’t think a public place is a good idea. He’s…unpredictable.” Max grew hesitant. “I was kinda – kinda hoping you and Mrs. Byers might let us do it here. Not like with anyone around. Just the two of us. For one thing, the other kids and Hopper might draw blood the minute they laid eyes on him. They’ve never forgiven him for that night. And you - I don’t want – you shouldn’t have to –“

  
“Max, you don’t have to explain. I get it. He’s your brother -,” Steve began, but was interrupted before he could finish.

  
“ _Step_ -brother,” Max corrected. It was almost automatic at this point.

  
“Right. Anyway,” Steve continued. “As long as Joyce is okay with it, then I’m cool with it. But my only condition is that you aren’t alone with him. I wanna be here. If he tries anything, I don’t want you to be by yourself. I know – well, I know how violent he can be, and I wanna be here. Just in case. Better me than you. Just like last time.”

  
“No! It’s _not_ better. Not to me.” Out of the blue, Max buried her face in Steve’s chest. The safety and warmth she felt even in his tentative and slightly shocked hold was incomparable and overwhelmed her to the point that the tears she’d been holding onto finally slipped freely down her cheeks. There were so many differences between Billy and Steve. Principal among them was that everything in her screamed to run _from_ Billy whereas her instinct with Steve was to run _towards_ him. “I don’t want you to get hurt like that or be sick ever again, especially if Billy is responsible. I could take losing him forever, but not you. Never you.”

  
“You don’t mean that.” Max nodded vehemently in objection, a whimper escaping as she pressed her face more firmly against his chest. Steve shushed her as he stroked the long, red strands. “Okay. Okay. I’ll like, hide in the bedroom or something. But you. will. not. be. alone. You hear me?”

  
“Loud and clear,” Max sniffled as she clung to him more fiercely. “Steve?”

  
“Yeah?” Steve shifted her until he was cradling both her cheeks.

  
“I don’t think you have to worry, though. He’s gotten better. Not so angry. And there’s – there’s something else you should know,” Max flicked her eyes to the side before resting them back on Steve. “I’ve actually – well, I’ve kept in touch with him since he’s been back in California. I even called him from the hospital once. Back when you were really sick and we thought – and you needed the bone marrow transplant, but nobody matched and –“

  
Realization was dawning on him and a tendril of dread snaked through his abdomen. “What – what are you saying, Max?”

  
“I may have kinda, sorta asked him to get tested for you.” Steve’s expression was blatantly horrified. “What? Don’t give me that look! We were all scared and desperate! You were so _sick_ and we all would’ve done anything – _anything_ – to save you. For me, that included calling Billy. He said he’d do it. I don’t know if he ever really did, but he at least considered it. He never would have done that before, so maybe – maybe he is changing a little. For the better. I need to see for myself if that’s true or not.”

  
“Okay, Max. Like I said, I get it. I may not like it, but I don’t have to. I’ll talk to Joyce,” Steve promised. “But I’m still going to be here. No arguments.”

  
Four days later, the day after the funeral, the rest of Billy’s belongings were boxed up and stored in Steve’s car awaiting his arrival. Billy was not allowed farther than the front porch, and even though the temperatures were approaching freezing, Steve cracked a window so he could hear the first signs of a scuffle or even the tiniest hint of discontent as he puttered idly around the kitchen, trying to stay out of sight but remaining close by if needed.

  
An engine revved unnecessarily loudly, thundering down the driveway as it crunched over the gravel, spraying it from beneath the rear wheel drive tires. A car door slammed, and Steve could hear faint murmurs drifting through the screen.

  
Max stood stiffly and unmoving on the porch. “Billy.”

  
“Max.” Billy slowly approached, pointing a finger to the maroon vehicle he parked the Camaro behind. “That’s Harrington’s car, isn’t it? What’s he doing here? I thought you said we’d be alone.”

  
“He and Mrs. Byers weren’t okay with that, and it’s his day off and this is his home, so…’Sides, how else did you think I was going to get you the rest of your stuff? Would you rather I had asked Hopper,” Max crossed her arms and glared at him, daring him to oppose her, but he declined to take the bait. That was a positive sign because Billy usually never failed to engage.

  
“Whatever, shitbird.” A cigarette dangled loosely from the corner of Billy’s mouth. “Just let me get my stuff and I’ll split.” Max glowered in his general direction, but kept her lips sealed as she bounded down the steps, uncurling her fist to reveal a set of keys. “Oh, that’s rich. The King trusts you little monsters with the keys to the wheels of his kingdom?”

  
“Don’t call him that! And yeah, _Steve’s_ cool like that.” Max unlocked the car and opened the rear door so the boxes could be removed from the backseat. Billy lit his cigarette and leaned in to get the first box. When he straightened up, Max yanked the white stick out of his mouth and threw it in the dirt. “You can’t smoke in Steve’s car, asshole.”

  
“Why the hell not,” Billy sniped, but made no move to pick up the smoldering butt. “Everything’s all good now, right? I thought that Pretty Boy fluttered his dainty little lashes, made some wishes, and sweet-talked the cancer out of his body with that charm of his so he could get on with his perfect existence.”

  
“Shut the fuck up, Billy! You don’t know _shit_ about what Steve’s been through, alright,” Max spat venomously. “What he _still_ has to deal with.”

  
“Oooh, did I touch a nerve? Protective of the guy that you will ‘go to your grave wishing was your brother’ instead of me, are we,” Billy mocked, throwing her words from that long-ago phone call in her face. “So, enlighten me then. C’mon. Out with it.”

  
“You know, you’d already know if you ever bothered to pick up the phone again,” Max began moving boxes from one vehicle to another, suddenly wanting this encounter over with. Billy wasn’t any different than the asshole he had been before he left, just less reactive. Steve had been right in his insinuations. This was a bad idea. “Never mind. Just forget it. Get your stuff and leave.”

  
“Aw, don’t be like that, Maxine. What’s going on with your beloved St. Golden Boy,” Billy adopted a derisive tone, poking his lip out tauntingly and sneering at his nails. “Will it break one of his precious little nails? Or will the smoke make his luscious mullet sad and…limp? Knock his halo off his head? What’s the big fucking deal?”

  
“Because he can’t fucking _breathe_ , you moron,” Max shrieked, balling her hands into angry fists. “Not that you give two shits, but the treatments damaged his lungs so much that he’ll never be able to breathe on his own again. But I guess that’s just a big joke to you, too. Just like it was the first time I called you. Steve had cancer – _twice_ \- and he’ll never be the same because of it. He almost died multiple times and couldn’t get out of bed for months. What a riot! He still hurts and gets exhausted at the drop of a hat and can’t even breathe right, even though he’s ‘better’. What a hilarious punchline, isn’t it? Then how come none of us are laughing – except _you_ , you dick!”

  
Max spun around to conceal her furious tears, but Billy grabbed her arm and forced her to face him again. “I really thought he was better. Max, if I’d known I’d never…”

  
“’You’d never’ what? Make fun of him like you’ve already done? Make light of Steve’s fight to _live_? You didn’t see what it’s been like. You don’t _know_. But don’t act like you give a rat’s ass about him – or me - because I know that you don’t. Today just proves it,” Max scrubbed at her cheeks. “So, go ahead. Laugh it up at Steve’s expense. He’s been through way worse. You can’t hurt him anymore than he already has been.”

  
This wasn’t the purpose for him coming today, and despite his hard exterior this wasn’t how Billy wanted to leave things between them. So, instead of bristling like he usually would at her accusations, he revealed something to her that he should’ve a long time ago. “You know, when you called me, I didn’t get tested right away. I kinda forgot about it, to be honest.”

  
“Big shocker. At least you’re consistent. You remain a selfish-prick,” Max said bitterly.

  
“Think what you want.” Billy grit his teeth, gracing her with a steely glare as he hooked his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans, proud he restrained himself from exploding on her. “I never hated Harrington. Steve. And I don’t enjoy seeing people suffer. So, I did it, you know? Got tested. It was a few months later, though and it was a bust. That’s why I never said anything. My version of an apology – to both of you - didn’t work out, so what was the point?”

  
Max softened considerably at Billy’s revelation and her eyes lit up, drawing the tiniest bit nearer to her step-brother. “Oh, there was a point, alright. You tried. It was a big step for you, and that matters. It matters more than you know. Thank you.”

  
“If you say so,” Billy said doubtfully. “Don’t see what good it did.”

  
“Plenty.” Max closed the distance between them and encircled his waist. “I know you won’t believe this, but I really am going to miss you.”

  
“Nah, you won’t. You got a better role model and better brother material right here. It’s like it’s ingrained in Harrington’s DNA or something.” Max scowled at Billy’s dismissive words, no matter how light and teasing they were. “But if you want to call me, maybe I’ll pick up next time.”

  
Steve had expected the passionate shouts and tensed at every single one, ready to barrel out the front door and defend Max at any given moment. Every time the voices died down, it was somehow more unnerving. After a few minutes of the unsettling quiet, Steve could take it no longer and released the lock from the screen door. He emerged from the house, immediately misinterpreting Billy’s arms around Max as an aggressive stance and he rushed forward. “Hey! Is everything okay out here? Max?”

  
Billy admired Steve a little more in that moment. He seemed as if a gust of wind could knock him over at any given second and appeared less threatening than an angry puppy, but it didn’t prevent him from jumping in the middle with both feet, willing to rescue Max in a heartbeat and place himself in harm’s way to save her if she gave the slightest hint of impending peril. The image was all the more impressive when Billy realized just what exactly Max had been all fired up about and what Steve was hauling around on his back. And… since when did oxygen tubing come in different colors?

  
“Yeah, Steve. We’re good.” Steve still looked skeptical, but the smile on Max’s face halted his forward momentum. She separated herself from Billy’s hug and turned towards the boy standing at the bottom of the steps. When she caught sight of him, Max’s eyebrows shot up in alarm. Steve’s red sweater wasn’t the only red substance adorning his body. “Steve! You’re bleeding!”

  
“What?” Steve dabbed a couple fingers under his nose, lightly touching the tubing and pulling them back to see them covered with a slippery crimson fluid. “Aw, dammit! Not again.”

  
Max shot forward instantly to grip his elbow and guide him up the porch steps to the glider with the other hand to the small of his back as he pinched his nose and tipped his head skywards to stem the flow. Steve stumbled a bit with his sight impeded and his balance thrown off. “Billy, a little help here.” Billy, for once, followed obediently and they got the other boy to the intended target. It was a little tricky because they had to relieve him of the burden on his back before he could properly sit down. “I’m going to go get some tissues. Stay right there.”

  
“Not going anywhere,” Steve said wryly, leaning his head further back until it rested against the siding and closing his eyes. “Take a picture. It’ll last longer, and then you can have my humiliation forever preserved for your enjoyment.”

  
Billy studied the still too-thin and too-pale boy. Even after more than a year of supposedly being healthy, his former rival certainly didn’t look it at all, and the tubes tinged with red and disappearing up his nostrils didn’t help his case any. “Maybe at one time I’d have taken you up on it. But now? Max seems to think I’m changing for the better. I don’t have the urge to make fun of you right now or beat your face in. It wouldn’t be a fair fight, anyway. Never used to matter to me before, though. So, who knows? Maybe she’s onto something.”

  
“Lucky me.” Steve swallowed and attempted several breaths, but they were too shallow and too rapid to be effective. “You’ve graduated from bullying me to pitying me.”

  
There was a gurgling sound coming from Steve’s throat that Billy was all too familiar with, but the intensifying heaving of his chest coupled with the escalating gasping was much more concerning. Billy didn’t know what to do about the latter, but he could help with the other thing. “Yeah. Lucky you. I’ve had a nosebleed or two in my time and you need to lean forward, Princess or it will drip down your throat and next thing you know you’ll be puking on me. So, head between your knees or I’m sending you the dry cleaning bill.”

  
Max burst through the door with a wad of tissues that she pressed up against Steve’s leaking nose. “This keeps happening. When’s your checkup? Maybe you should go see the doctor sooner?”

  
Steve took over stuffing the Kleenex up his nose, cheeks puffing in and out as he was forced to inhale and exhale through his mouth. “Max, it’s fine. The oxygen dries me out and it’s always the worst this time of year, that’s all. I’m due to go back in a few weeks, right before Thanksgiving. Don’t worry, okay?” Steve removed the tissues from his face and held it out. “See? It’s already stopping. No harm. I’ll let you two finish up.”

  
The younger teen couldn’t help but notice the difficulty her friend was having drawing a deep breath – or any breath, really - as he started to rise. Max formulated a protest to his premature movements, but it didn’t have a chance to leave her mouth before Steve was already up on his feet. He only took a few steps before his knees were buckling and his body sagged, and Billy’s arms shot out to prevent him from collapsing all the way to the ground. He hefted him back onto the glider with ease. Steve was so light, it was disconcerting. “Max…”

  
“I know. Steve, I really think you need a doctor,” Max fretted as Steve grew more agitated and she threaded her fingers into his hair, a ministration that had a tendency to relax him. Keeping Steve calm assisted him with his breathing. This was a technique they had all picked up from Mrs. Byers. Max looked around, searching for a better solution. Her foot thumped against metal and it drew her focus. Max’s eyes landed on the needle of the gauge buried in the red and was instantly relieved. “Steve, you big dummy. How long have you been out of oxygen? You need another tank. I’ll be right back.”

  
Steve tapped at her forearm urgently and mimed lifting weights because he no longer had the air to produce words. Billy immediately decoded the charade. “He says it’s too heavy. I’ll get it. Just tell me where.”

  
“Okay, but bring the key, too,” Max explained where to find the supplies. She called after him, “And bring the thing on his nightstand with a vial of the medicine sitting next to it.”

  
Billy had never hurried so fast in his life. Not even when Neil was chasing him out of the house. Nothing had ever flustered him so much as seeing someone he didn’t even think he _liked_ , let alone cared about, struggling for air and nearly fainting, with blood dripping down his face on top of it. And according to Max, this was the healthy version of his former classmate. It suddenly clicked just how awful and scary it must have been to witness someone you cared deeply about near death and barely surviving on a daily basis. The worries didn’t just dissipate into thin air after everything was supposedly over, either. They were just replaced with new worries as Steve continued to struggle. That was what Max had meant. Billy suddenly felt empathy – for both his sister and Steve. It was foreign and painful, and something he didn’t even think he was capable of, but it wasn’t an unwelcome sensation.

  
Max took the oxygen tank from him, turned on the valve with the key, and switched the tubing to the full tank so Steve could start receiving the much-needed air. She set up the breathing treatment with a practiced hand and secured it to his face before removing the empty tank from the specially designed backpack and replacing it with the full tank. She barked out another command to Billy which he readily assisted with: “Help me get him inside and to the couch. This cold air isn’t doing him any favors.”

  
Perhaps the most disturbing aspect of the whole thing was that Steve never once put up a fight, as if he didn’t have it in him. He just let everything happen to him. They each took an arm and supported his weight by his biceps as Steve concentrated on holding onto his equipment and shuffling one foot in front of the other. His legs wobbled like jelly. As soon as he was safely reclined against the stack of pillows on the sofa precisely placed to enable him to stay sitting somewhat upright, Steve’s head lolled lifelessly to the side and his eyes fell shut.

  
“Jesus. Jesus Christ, Max! Did he just pass out? Shouldn’t you call an ambulance or something,” Billy cried.

  
Max righted the nebulizer that had been knocked askew and adjusted it so it fit more tightly over her friend’s nose and mouth. “No, he does this sometimes. He’s just sleeping. The attacks wear him out, and he’s already so tired anyway from everything else…It’s really taken its toll on him. Do you see now?”

  
“Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do,” Billy whispered, frowning at the faint wheezing he could hear coming from Steve’s chest now that they were in the quiet of the house. The monotonous hiss of the oxygen was almost accusatory as Billy realized that in the less than hour that he’d been here that Steve had done everything in his power to keep his sister safe and happy. Even going so far as sending himself into an ‘attack’, which apparently wasn’t an isolated incident, because he was more concerned about Max’s well-being than his own. Even with insurmountable obstacles and every possible, valid reason to take out his frustrations on the world, Steve chose to remain a good person and put others before himself. Billy _should_ want to be like that. Today made him see like nothing else ever had before that he _did_ want to be like that and that perhaps Steve had it right all along. Without any conscious thought whatsoever, Steve was setting an example that begged to be followed. “Max, I’m sorry. For everything.”

  
“Yeah. Me too,” Max sighed, brushing back a stray, sweaty strand of hair from Steve’s forehead that had broken free from his perfectly styled hairdo. “You should tell Steve that, too. He deserves to hear it. Even though he’s not awake, I’ll know, and that counts. I’ll make sure he knows.”

  
“Okay.” Billy knelt and glanced hesitantly at Max before letting his eyes fall on the unconscious form of Steve Harrington. He paused indecisively before laying a hand on Steve’s too cool, too blue appendage that was flopped flaccidly against his chest, making him resemble more a broken doll than a person. “I’m sorry, okay? For everything I did to you. For everything that’s happened to you since. You didn’t deserve any of it, my shit included. You got a real set on you, Harrington and you’re a lot tougher than you look, you know. I guess you’d have to be to survive all that you have, and I respect that. And I guess I should thank you. For looking after my sister. According to her, you’ve done a pretty kick ass job of it. Better than I ever did, so uh, keep it up, I guess. Take it easy, Steve.”

  
Billy came out of his crouch and was practically assaulted by Max’s arms again. “Thanks, Billy. Believe it or not, I’m glad you came. Today meant a lot. Even with all the yelling. And just so you know, Steve is a lot of the reason why today was even possible. He made it all happen. It may not look like it now, but he’s really amazing, you know? And you can be, too when you want to be.”

  
“It wouldn’t be us if there wasn’t at least some yelling involved. And so am I. Glad I came, I mean.” Billy waved a finger between his sister and the figure prone on the couch. “And I’m beginning to see that. Take care of yourself and like I said, hit me up sometime. But take care of this one over here, too. He seems like he needs it. So long, Max.”

  
“You too. Bye, Billy.” Max stared at the back of the denim jacket as the door closed behind him, feeling like something had been accomplished. The engine roared to life and faded into the distance as she lifted the blanket from the back of the couch and tucked it around Steve.

  
Max perched herself on the edge of the coffee table and traced a finger over Steve's delicate wrist. “I should thank you, too. For being the brother that I always wanted. And maybe finally giving me another one today that I never really had before.”

  
Although Steve recovered just fine from his most recent respiratory crisis without any long-lasting effects, the nosebleeds continued with a frequency that started to concern him. Steve didn’t share his fears with anyone, but just bided his time until the next appointment, figuring he would mention it then.

  
Joyce was beside him for the biopsy like she always was, but Steve had been going to the follow-up appointments scheduled several days after the procedure unaccompanied for half a year now. He had to strip down while they thoroughly examined him and it was much less embarrassing to do it by himself, without any witnesses. At first, Joyce and Hopper had balked at him receiving the results alone, but nothing had changed in quite some time, and eventually Steve had been able to convince them that he could handle it. And that’s exactly what he told them after this last appointment.

  
There was something about Steve that just seemed…off at Thanksgiving. He smiled easily and joked with the kids, and if anything, was even more affectionate than usual with them as he patiently guided them through the steps of various recipes. Not to say that Steve wasn’t still lightning-quick with his typically sarcastic comments that flew like bullets from the kitchen as he chopped and diced, the tasks at hand never detracting from his talkative nature. And this may have been the best Thanksgiving dinner yet. Steve had really outdone himself, and it was more extravagant and lavish and delicious than prior years, if that was even possible.

  
It was all perfect. Too perfect. And it set Hopper’s teeth on edge like he was chewing on tinfoil, although he couldn’t put his finger on why. At the end of the evening, he finally drug Steve out to the porch and confronted him, even though the policeman wasn’t even sure what he was confronting him over.

  
Steve brushed him off again and again with nervous laughter, telling Hopper he was being ridiculous, but his coiled yet drooping posture and thousand-yard stare underneath his practiced, frozen smile and stiff mannerisms were a dead giveaway. Hopper was unrelenting and refused to back down until Steve dropped the act and came clean.

  
According to Steve, his parents had reached out in the hopes of reconciling and mending their fractured relationship. Steve had been torn over what to do, but came to the conclusion that he needed to do this. The catch was that he would have to leave town, and therefore would need a couple of weeks off work, as well. Hopper granted him that without hesitation. He had sworn long ago to move Heaven and Earth itself if that’s what it took for Steve to live a full and fulfilled life. And helping Steve to reclaim something he had yearned after for so long certainly fell into that category.

  
It was more than a plausible explanation for the squirrelly way Steve had been acting, and Hopper had no reason to doubt him as the boy left for the long-awaited reconciliation. Over the next couple of weeks, he swore he saw the maroon BMW several times in the distance around town, or in one instance, whiz right by his squad car. Hopper did a double-take, shaking his head at his own absurdity. He was starting to miss the kid that had become such a fixture in his life – both at home and at work – so much that he was starting to hallucinate his presence.

  
Steve was supposed to be back at work the following Monday, but the Friday before Hopper spotted the BMW again parked outside the pharmacy, and he was certain it wasn’t a delusion or a coincidence this time. It was a big, fat stationary sign that the kid was up to something. There was only one other place that Steve could be staying if it wasn’t with one of them, and Hopper was going to pay him a visit tonight, determined to get to the bottom of it.

  
Darkness came early in the bleak, frosty December days leading up to the Indiana Winter, and it had already fallen when Hopper pulled his Blazer into the Harrington driveway. His suspicions were confirmed as soon as he turned in, spying the boxy, maroon vehicle that belonged to Steve.

  
The driver’s side door was ajar, but not enough for the interior light to be on, thankfully. Otherwise, a dead battery was almost a certainty in these bitter temperatures. Hopper pushed it fully closed and approached the front door which was also gaping open. Steve was never so careless, and it shot his policeman antenna up. Either Steve had been in an awful, big hurry or some type of foul-play was involved.

  
Hopper entered the foyer very slowly, closing the door quietly behind him. He kept one hand on the butt of his gun as he called out, “Steve? Hey, kid! It’s Hopper! You alright?”

  
There was no response other than the distant ticking of a clock. Keys were tossed haphazardly on the floor as if someone had aimed for the side table and missed, and papers were scattered all over the entryway floor, one pinned to the second to last step leading upstairs underneath Steve’s Members Only jacket. “Steve? You up there, buddy? If you can hear me, answer me, kid! You’re not in trouble. I’m not mad. I just wanna make sure you’re safe.”

  
Panic took an icy hold in Hopper’s gut as he crept up the stairs, terrified of what he might find when nothing but silence echoed back. That wasn’t like Steve at all. He thumbed the snap on his holster and released it. “I’m coming up. Just hang tight.”

  
Hopper climbed the stairs slowly, on high alert. The closer he got to the landing, the more audible the muffled gags and light scuffling from the first door to the left were. A loud retch simultaneously confirmed Steve’s location and the reason why he didn’t answer. Hopper reengaged the snap over his gun and pushed the bathroom door further open.

  
Only the top of Steve’s head was visible, the rest of his face thrust into the bowl of the toilet. The tufts of his brunette locks swayed in conjunction with the spasms that seized his body. Every single time Hopper had seen Steve in this position in the past, it was a direct result of his treatments. The small pillow and blanket strewn against the tiles made the scene even more sad and desolate than it already was, a glaringly obvious sign of Steve’s intentions. He had prepared to curl up right here next to the porcelain to save himself the energy he didn’t have to spend getting himself back and forth to the bathroom.

  
It was a weird preference that Steve had sometimes tried to adopt – also after his treatments – as they grew more intense. The group firmly forbade him from indulging in that developing habit. Steve obstinately resisted their help each and every time because he didn’t want to be a burden, but they refused to let him languish alone and miserable on the bathroom floor when he became too tired and too weak to move himself. They picked him up again and again until he begrudgingly relented and allowed them to situate him comfortably in the bed in between assisted and hurried trips to the commode.

  
There was an overpowering sense of déjà vu encompassing Hopper at the flashbacks peppering his mind juxtaposed against the blatant, irrefutable evidence staring back at him. The two images laid atop one another like a film with double exposure. An epiphany disguised as a boulder slammed into his chest in slow motion and with such force that it shattered his heart a split second before he felt the follow-up punch to the gut, depleting the very air from his lungs.

  
It suddenly all made sickening, dreadful, agonizing sense – Steve’s behavior, the secrecy, the disappearing act. The pieces of the puzzle both shifted away from and collided with one another like some horribly twisted kaleidoscope until they fell into place with such violent, wretched clarity that Hopper was suffocated by the overwhelming despair of it all, positively choking on the pieces of his bereft and broken heart that had risen up into his throat, and shook his frame with a raw and uncharted rage at the injustice of it all. But all his brain could command his mouth to say was: “Aw, kid.”

  
Steve was unable to even acknowledge him at first, too consumed by keeping up with the demands of his body. Hopper slid down the wall behind Steve and laid a warm hand on his back, contact the boy initially flinched at, but eventually relaxed into. When it seemed he had finished, at least temporarily, Hopper gently pulled him back to lean up against the wall next to him.

  
“I’m sorry I lied to you,” Steve murmured, giving Hopper the respect of not continuing with the ruse any longer, knowing the cop was intelligent enough to infer what was going on without him explicitly saying it. He did owe him the courtesy of an explanation, at least, and to help him understand that he didn’t want to deceive anyone out of spite or malicious intent. Steve was just terribly lost and confused and afraid, and couldn’t stand the thought of putting all of them through this again. It was too much to ask of them. Of _anyone_.

  
Steve studied his lap, stalling a bit until he could conjure up the right words. But there was no handbook on this. “The stuff about my parents was partly true. I had to talk to them a bit to ask them if I could stay here. I didn’t tell them why, though. They wanna see me, but I’m not sure I’m ready for all that right now. There’s too much I have to figure out first.”

  
Hopper inserted his arm between Steve and the wall, trying to project a sense of the security and safety that he wished to provide for him. He concentrated on conveying all the love and protection that Steve was crying out for so loudly and plainly and in desperate need of right now, even if he wasn’t even aware of it. Or maybe he was, but was too proud or ashamed to ask for it. With a patience reserved only for El and Steve, the policeman softly prompted, “Like what?”

  
“Like,” Steve curled the clear tubing around his finger, pulled it taut, let it unfurl, and repeated the actions, “like, how I want to proceed – what kind of treatment I want to pursue. If any.”

  
That last sentence hung heavily in the air and drove a stake of absolute, nauseating terror through Hopper, causing his breath to catch in his throat. He cursed and prayed like mad that he was mistaken in his growing supposition or that it was pure histrionic conjecture on Steve’s part, but Steve had a tendency to downplay and conceal his illness, not the other way around. He didn’t embellish or falsely raise the red flags.

  
This was laying the groundwork to be almost identical to that heart-stomping conversation he had with Diane and the doctors over a bedside so long ago. Hopper’s mind began to construct defensive walls in an effort to protect him from both the memories and the present, frantically denying and intellectualizing and rationalizing away the horrible truth that the rest of him could already feel the veracity of in his very bones. “What do you mean by that? Talk to me, kid. Aren’t the treatment options the same as before?”

  
“No,” Steve stated bluntly, still fiddling with the tubing. Softening his tone, Steve elaborated. “Not this time. Another bone marrow transplant isn’t an option. A second bone marrow transplant is rare to begin with. And even if it weren’t, the doctors are pretty sure I wouldn’t survive it. Actually, they _know_ I wouldn’t. I’m not even a candidate. My lungs…they’re not good. They’re complicating the treatment. I, um…they can’t…even the treatment now can’t be as strong because of it. Not like it was before. They -they’ve had to divide it into two sessions a week, and it’s…it’s not working – like, at all.”

  
Hopper unconsciously drew Steve closer to him as if he alone could shield Steve from his catastrophic fate. If he held on tight enough and never let him go, then Steve would have to stay right here with them forever. The cancer wouldn’t be able to claim him for itself and rip him out of their outstretched arms, eternally just beyond their grasps. Hopper squeezed Steve into an even firmer embrace, willing the lump in his throat to unknot. “How, um, how bad are we talking, kid? How bad is it?”

  
“Bad,” Steve whispered hoarsely, his voice cracking on that one syllable under the enormous weight that he carried. He fixated on the decorative hand towel hanging on the wall across the spacious bathroom, his stare never wavering from the gaudy flowers embroidered into the cloth. “They told me today that…um….”

  
Steve had to blink away the tears that had sprung up. He didn’t dare look at Hopper or he would unravel completely never to be stitched back together again. Steve had done so well holding himself together up until now, using a glue consisting of denial and illusion and tenuous hope to keep the fragile pieces of himself together. But once he said it aloud, there would be no taking it back. No pretending that it was untrue, merely a tragic fantasy his mind had evilly tricked him into believing. It would become tangible. Concrete. And so, so excruciatingly real.

  
“It’s really gotten aggressive. Worse than ever. More than the medicine can keep up with, even. The Leukemia’s in my spinal fluid now. And um, um…once the cells… it’s in there…in the central nervous system…” Steve swallowed so hard that his throat clicked. He took a deep, shaky breath and nearly choked on the ball of suppressed emotions lodged there amid the poorly veiled connotations of his words. “Well, there’s not a whole lot – it’s really hard to treat.”

  
Hopper closed his eyes against the sorrow and the anger and all the emotions assaulting him all at once. A second was all he could take to compose himself because Steve needed him to be here. Be present. Be the solid, grounding force in the midst of all Steve’s swirling chaos. Hopper steeled himself for the soul crushing words that he knew were coming. When he opened his eyes again, Steve had lifted his head to lock his own eyes, shimmering and flooded with unshed tears, with Hopper’s.

  
“I – I didn’t know what to do. How to tell you.” It took every ounce of control and resolve that Steve could wring out of the paltry, dried-up scraps of will that he had left within him to push the words past his dangerously trembling and incredibly wobbly lips. “I’m dying, Hop.”

  
Steve’s voice was so small, so plaintive. So strong, yet so meek. It dropped off and fragmented into a low keening whine that emanated from his chest and crawled up the back of his throat before being stopped abruptly at his vocal cords, as if they were no longer capable of producing sound after he delivered that brief, but destructive sentence. All Steve could do was keep mouthing those same words over and over, again and again, like some kind of macabre, stuck record. He doubled over, folding in on himself as the rivers flowed out of his eyes just as silently and tirelessly.

  
If ‘I love you’ were allegedly the three most beautiful words in the English language, then surely the three words Hopper had just heard were the most world-ending, devastating combination of consonants and vowels that had ever been uttered. It wasn’t within his power to prevent the latter from being true, but he could for damn sure let Steve know that the former was equally as true.

  
Hopper cupped Steve’s face in his rough hands, slowly straightening him up. The gentle pressure exerted on his cheeks allowed the tears to break free and finally spill over, leaving hot tracks behind in their wake before pooling briefly against the oxygen tubing and continuing to drip the rest of the way down. Steve jerked away, but Hopper stubbornly held on. “I love you, Steve. No matter what. Know that. We _all_ love you. I need you to hear me and hear me good. Whatever you have to face and however you choose to do it, we will be by your side the whole way. You. will. not. be. alone.”

  
Steve couldn’t still the quaking coursing throughout his entire body, but releasing the tears had somehow helped him reclaim his voice, albeit thicker and raspier than before. “They said that I could continue treatment, but that it – that it wouldn’t – it wouldn’t _save_ me anymore. It would just prolong the inevitable. Maybe give me more time, but I – I don’t – I…”

  
Hopper gathered that Steve had already made his choice but was seeking permission to assert what little control he had left over his prematurely shortened life. There wasn’t much Hopper could do for Steve of any substance except shower him with every bit of fatherly love and care and support that he would accept – and this. He could be the port in the storm, a well Steve could draw from for whatever he needed to navigate the days ahead. But most of all, in this moment, he could give him the peace he sought in the face of something no one so young should ever have to even consider – let alone come to a decision about or begin to come to terms with. Hopper cradled the back of Steve’s head with so much affection that for Steve, it nearly eclipsed the reverent whispers spoken into his ear. “It’s your call, kid. It’s your life. No one else’s. What do _you_ want to do?”

  
“If – if this is it, I don’t – I don’t want it to be like this anymore. Me on the bathroom floor. I don’t want to be sick all the time. I want – I want the time I have left to count. Not spending it getting treatments or in the hospital. It should be something more than that. _Please_ , Hop,” Steve brokenly pleaded, a mixture of defeat, desperation, and fatigue etched into every line of his face. “If it’s not going to do any good – I’m so, so tired. I just wanna be done. I want to stop the chemo.”

  
Steve dropped his head into his hands, tugging on the strands of his hair as the sobs began to intermittently escape. Hopper slid his hand down to the base of Steve’s neck and wrapped his other arm around the boy's back. His shoulders jumped up and down with increasing speed underneath the policeman’s grip, and Steve hid his face in the crook of Hopper’s neck to stifle the sobs, but they kept coming at such a pace that he was close to hyperventilating.

  
Hopper propped his chin atop Steve’s head in a poorly camouflaged effort to disguise his own grief. In his arms was another child he couldn’t save, couldn’t rescue from the jaws of death or the rot of cancer. There was no sense to any of it and Hopper was barely holding himself together. He wouldn’t even have been able to manage to do so at all if Steve hadn’t already come apart and fallen to pieces in his arms.

  
Hopper had once promised the boy that he would be strong for him when Steve couldn’t be strong for himself, but he was questioning if he could feasibly uphold that promise as the next words left Steve’s lips with an elongated, pitiful wail between the inconsolable, hiccupping cries: “I’m – I’m not r-r-ready. I - I don’t understand what I di-id wrong. I fought so - so h-h-hard. Why wasn’t it enough? Why wasn’t it e-enough, Hop? I don’t want to – _please_ – don’t l-l-let me die.”

  
Listening to Steve’s urgent and distraught pleas for his life, begging for it not to end so soon, so abruptly, and pleading with Hopper to do something – _anything_ \- to save him, finally became more than the father could bear. He was just as much at the mercy of Steve’s cancer as Steve was, but that didn’t make it any easier to accept or erase the urge to _fix it_. To swoop in there and put the cancer behind bars like the common thief it was and give back to Steve everything that had been stolen from him – and what had yet to be taken. The absolute powerlessness, the utter helplessness came crashing down onto him all at once and Hopper finally gave in. He lost it right there on the bathroom floor, clutching onto Steve for everything he was worth. And just like that, the promise had been broken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was very nervous to post this part, and went over and over it. I'm very interested to hear people's comments, thoughts, criticisms...what people want to hurl at me. There's still a few chapters to go and it won't all be sad, but this is the way I had always intended this to go. Even in 2020, the five-year survival rate for AML is only 28-30%. Back then, it was around 10%. To put it in perspective, my cancer has like a 68% survival rate. Posting this today of all days is bittersweet for me - and a little heartbreaking. In this part, I make reference to Steve acknowledging his three year date. I can't believe how the timing lined up (and I did delay posting it for a day to coincide it), but today is actually my three-year anniversary of being diagnosed with cancer. I had said there was a point in the story where my experience diverged from Steve's (thankfully), but although I truly don't think this is how it's going to go for me, one can't help but carry that around in the back of one's head. I hope you are all well and staying safe out there! Thank you for coming this far with me, and I hope you'll stay with me for a few more chapters <3


	19. Counting Down the Days To Go (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Party learns of the bad news in various ways, some - including Steve - dealing with it differently than others, but it all culminates in a plan to make this the best Christmas Steve's ever had. They succeed, and afterwards Will confides in Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it took so long to post this part. Hopefully, it was worth the wait. And I know, because of the way this is ending up, it is difficult for some people to read, but I really hope you are willing to keep going. It's more about the journey to get there - the relationships, the love and friendship, the laughter, the legacy left behind, and everything in between. I promise, it is not all sad. Thank you to all who have made it this far and commented, gave kudos, etc. I really appreciate all of it and all of you! TW for discussions with heavy subject matters surrounding illness and for discussion of sexuality. Please take care of yourselves, be safe, and do something nice for someone else this season (and also for yourselves) - especially with everything going on! Take care!

Steve was in the throes of a slumber that was anything but tranquil. The covers had been shoved down haphazardly to escape the flames of the internal fire that burned within his body and chased him constantly in his sleep. Perspiration dotted his forehead and soaked into the collar of his T-shirt causing it to sloppily stick to his clammy chest. Heavy breaths departed his partially open lips into a hand splayed across the pillow and pressed up against his cheek.

  
The figure in the bed portrayed a picture of such pure, childlike innocence at first glance. A boy who had merely drifted off into the warmth and safety of his dreams, but Steve’s dreams were devoid of any whimsical fantasies or magical journeys. For him, they had become a living, breathing nightmare that was even reflected subconsciously in his body language. Upon further scrutiny, it became apparent just how still and limp and sunken into the mattress with fatigue Steve really was. The clear tubing resting in his nostrils under the purple-black shadows ringing his eyes on a face too shiny and flushed to be healthy told the story of an extremely ill boy. His beaten down and motionless silhouette suddenly warped into a vision so surreal and horrifyingly obscene that Joyce had to clamp a hand over her mouth to suppress the emotion that bubbled up in her throat to keep from waking him.

  
Joyce no longer saw her surrogate son solely in front of her as he was, tucked safely and restlessly into bed before her very eyes, but laid out in preparation to be eternally imprisoned in a fiberglass box somewhere in the not-so-distant future. Steve’s feathery hair fanned out like a dark halo encircling his head that contrasted starkly against the white silk pillow. His snow-white hands loosely clasped a single, dark crimson rose against his forever-inert chest, plucked from the spray of the arrangement adorning his lower half. It was so vivid an image that Joyce swore she could smell the faint but cloying floral scent as Hopper led her away from the open door.

  
Hopper had summoned her over to the Harrington residence that morning and sat her down at their kitchen table to describe every harrowing detail of what had transpired the night before, every last bit of Steve’s anguished confession. How after a couple more episodes of vomiting, physically and emotionally spent, Steve had slumped against him in exhaustion and he had carried him to bed where he was resting now as best as he could under the circumstances.

  
They hadn’t had a chance to discuss anything else last night, let alone just how and when Steve wished to inform people. That was something that would have to be addressed today if Steve felt up to it. Hopper hoped that Steve would forgive him for confiding in Joyce without permission, but quite frankly, she needed to know sooner rather than later, and he could use the reinforcements.

  
He had anticipated the tears on Joyce’s part. He had been wrangling back his own. But what he wasn’t expecting was the compulsion that struck her to go up and check on Steve at that very moment. To see the boy for herself, in the flesh, as if his secret would be tattooed in confirmation onto his porcelain skin. Joyce’s small, choked back gasps at whatever it was that she saw echoed loudly in the hush that blanketed the house, and Hopper pried her away from the bedroom so the boy could have whatever miniscule amount of peace he could garner in this difficult situation.

  
The brewing coffee drowned out the ticking of the clock that chopped up the silence into mocking increments. They sipped on the bitter liquid as a poor distraction to pass the time until Steve returned to consciousness and discovered that he hadn’t awoken to the same desolate cold and isolating emptiness he had been accustomed to experiencing in this dwelling, staring his mortality in the face on his own. Hopper and Joyce refused to let that happen and let Steve weather this storm alone, anymore.

  
They patiently waited until they heard the faint stirrings of life from up above and tensed as Steve padded down the stairs robotically. He regarded them with a vacant expression until Joyce arose from her place on the sofa and gently guided him over to where she had carved out a spot in the cushioned corner.

  
Joyce wrapped an arm around his middle from behind and coaxed him down into a position on the couch in which he was propped against her smaller body so she could cradle him and shower him with love. The other arm raised to card through his wild hair. “Oh, sweetheart,” she breathed sorrowfully.

  
Steve almost appeared catatonic, not really responding to either of them. Neither Hopper nor Joyce pushed him, choosing to let him process everything in whatever way he needed to. Joyce just continued to tenderly rock him, registering the uneven hitching in his chest beneath her fingertips. When Steve’s muscles alternately contracted and released in her grasp, it became clear to Joyce he was attempting to repress his reaction for their sake, so she whispered in his ear, “Don’t hold it in. You don’t have to prove to us how strong and brave you are. We already know. Just let it out, sweetheart.”

  
Hanging his head, Steve pressed the heels of his hands to his eye sockets and suddenly pitched forward. Hopper caught him in a solid, steady embrace and for the second time in as many days, Steve found himself breaking down in the man’s arms. He didn’t stop until it felt like all the moisture had been wrung out of his body and it was just as dry and cracked as a barren desert floor.

  
Hopper gingerly separated himself, but kept a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “I know you probably want to eat less than anything in the world right now, but we gotta get some food in you, kid. Is there anything that even seems remotely appealing or you think you can stomach?”

  
Steve just blinked and continued to stare at him blankly as Joyce resumed stroking his head. She answered for him. “Maybe a milkshake? Vanilla. Right, honey? Grab some burgers and fries, Hop and we’ll get him to eat what he thinks he can tolerate.”

  
Hopper was reluctant to go with Steve in the state he was in, but he knew Joyce was maybe the most capable and qualified person in the world to provide comfort to a distressed child, and she would not leave his side for even a second. “Alright,” he sighed. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  
The pair hadn’t moved an inch in the thirty minutes he had been gone. As the food was set up and distributed, Steve didn’t even acknowledge its presence let alone make any movements to consume it. Joyce brought the straw up to his lips and he absently sipped from it. She did the same with a french fry and then the burger. He mechanically chewed and swallowed whatever she brought up to his mouth, and using this method, Joyce was able to get half the meal into him, but he made no effort to take over himself. “I know it’s been…a lot, but I’m getting really worried, Jim.”

  
Hopper exhaled heavily through his nose and scrubbed at his moustache with a cheap paper napkin as he appraised the boy that was flopped like a ragdoll onto Joyce’s lap. “Me too. But can you honestly say you’d react any differently in his place? Up until last night, Steve was handling the prognosis and all those messed-up thoughts running around his head because of it, on his own. What’d you expect?”

  
“I don’t know, but not…this.” Joyce planted a kiss to the top of Steve’s head as if the touch of her lips alone could unlock Steve’s mind from the prison it had confined himself in as simply and easily as the Prince’s kiss had freed Sleeping Beauty from her curse. But this was no fairytale with a happily ever after.

  
“Look, everything that still has to happen is overwhelming. Besides dealing with the obvious, there’s still lots of decisions he has to make.” Hopper took a drink of the now-flat soda and set it down on the coffee table. “One thing’s for sure – he won’t be doing it by his lonesome, but it doesn’t change what he has to face, not only in the future, but the next few days.”

  
Neither one of them meant to talk about Steve as if he weren’t in the room, but he was either unable or unwilling to participate in the discussion. “I know this is a ridiculous question, but like what exactly? How do we help him?”

  
“Steve may not want any more aggressive treatment, but he still needs to meet with the doctors and tell them that and then come up with a plan to at least keep him comfortable. Just because he wants to stop the chemo doesn’t mean all care should stop with it.” Hopper paused and rubbed his hands over his knees that were still clad in the khaki uniform he had been wearing yesterday. “And I can maybe stall them a bit, but the kids will have to be told soon. They need to know what’s happening before they figure it out on their own.”

  
“No!” Neither adult was prepared for how instantaneously Steve snapped out of his trance at the mention of his younger friends. He hadn’t spoken a word since last night, so the emphatic protest took them both by surprise. They hadn’t even been sure he had been present enough to hear what was going on around him. Clearly, he had.

  
“Steve-,” Hopper began.

  
Steve swung his legs over the edge of the couch and bolted upright, the intensity of his eye contact causing Hopper to falter and abort whatever he was going to say next. “You can’t tell them yet!” Steve's voice dropped to just above a whisper. “Christmas is only a couple weeks away. It’ll be the last – I just - I want to see them happy. I don’t – I don’t want to ruin that for them. And every year after – every year they’ll remember, and I can’t – I don’t want…I care about them too much to let that happen.”

  
Joyce rested her palm lovingly against his cheek. Her eyes filled from the implications of his words. “Oh, honey. No. Don’t shoulder that burden. Don’t store away your pain for their sakes and wear yourself down faster. And they’d tell you the same thing. Those kids love and adore you so much.”

  
With his lips pressed tightly into a thin line, Steve gave a slow nod. “I know. And that’s exactly why I can’t hurt them like that. Not now. Not when I have the ability to prevent it.”

  
“What you’re trying to do is admirable and your heart’s in the right place, but you’re not preventing it. Just delaying it,” Hopper reasoned. “Their hearts are going to be broken either way, but if you keep it from them…if you don’t tell them, they – they will resent not knowing and will spend a good chunk of their existence wondering whether there was something more they could’ve done. Said. _We_ know that’s not true, but it won’t stop them from feeling it. From torturing themselves.”

  
Steve’s eyes slanted downwards and his lips quivered as they curved into a frown. He clenched his fists tightly as he absorbed Hopper’s wise remarks.

  
“Knowing that your time with someone is limited is beyond hard, I’m not gonna lie to you. But what’s even worse – what’s worse is not knowing and second-guessing yourself after the fact for the rest of your life whether you appreciated every moment or pissed it away and took the person you love for granted. Whether you said or did everything you could’ve while you still had the chance. Don’t make them live with that regret,” Hopper advised him earnestly. “Take it from someone who knows firsthand.”

  
Any defense Steve was poised to come up with to support his point dissipated into thin air at Hopper’s rare display of vulnerability. He was right. Of course, he was. Agonizingly so. Steve would be a fool not to listen to Hopper as his prudent counsel and insight were born out of an almost identical devastating personal experience. Steve’s body slumped and his head fell forward under the weight of the realization.

  
The policeman swept the trembling boy into his arms who nodded frantically against his shoulder. “Alright. Okay. I get it. You’re right.” Steve sniffled quietly. “But – but I want to do it on my terms.”

  
Joyce rubbed supportive circles in between Steve’s shoulder blades as Hopper responded for the both of them. “Whatever you want, kid, it’s yours. If it’s within our power, we’ll deliver. Just name it.”

  
Steve swiped at his eyes to prevent the uniform from becoming more soaked than it already was. “All the kids have been great, and I know – I know Will and El, but – but Dustin…Dustin’s been…He’s _special_.” Steve had to spend several moments collecting himself and ordering his thoughts into something more coherent. “I think – I _know_ – he’s my best friend. My _brother_. And he’s made it his life’s _mission_ to learn anything and everything about my disease and treatments. To help me – even if – even if it was _a lot_ for him. He’s seen me – he’s been there at all the _worst times_. I wanna – I _need_ to take him aside first. He deserves that much.”

  
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Joyce shushed him while petting his hair. “We all know how much Dustin _worships_ you, and the extraordinary bond you two share. You don’t have to explain.”

  
Steve gulped. “But before I do that, I wanna go to the doctor like you said. Figure out exactly what’s gonna happen. What I’m looking at, so I know what to tell them.”

  
“You got it, kid,” Hopper assured him, cupping the back of his head compassionately. “That’s really smart. We’ll call first thing Monday morning, alright?”

  
“Th- thanks. There’s – there’s one more thing,” Steve said hesitantly. “I – I don’t want to stay in this place…this _tomb_ anymore. Can I – can I go home now?”

  
Joyce couldn’t stifle the sob that escaped at Steve’s timid and unassuming request. Her house wasn’t much to look at compared to where they were standing, but it humbled her to know that he considered it more his home than where he grew up, and that it was the place he turned to first when he sought refuge and solace. She slid herself in front of Hopper and caressed Steve’s damp cheeks with both her hands before drawing him close into the security of her open arms. “Oh, baby. Of course! Let’s get you _home_. We can go right now if that’s what you want.”

  
Steve _did_ want that. He wanted it more than anything, and Joyce and Hopper planted him back on the sofa while they packed up all his things. In under an hour, they were on their way back to the Byers’ and resettling Steve into his bedroom. To keep the kids from asking too many prying questions that Steve wouldn’t have truthful answers to, Joyce and Hopper fabricated a cover story that Steve had had a rough time with his parents and was worn out. He was okay, but he wasn’t feeling great and they should let him rest for a few days.

  
It worked and the kids begrudgingly left him alone, although Will was somewhat suspicious. It wasn’t anything he could put his finger on exactly, just subtle clues here and there that there was more to it than anyone was saying.

  
Hopper forced Steve to stay home from work. Oftentimes, Will would glance over and catch Steve staring off into the distance, his large and slightly sunken eyes fixated on nothing. It might have been a trick of the anemic lighting or the fact that Winter had come earlier than usual to Hawkins, but Will could swear Steve’s skin was virtually alabaster. And he was so quiet and withdrawn. As the week elapsed, Steve seemed to fall into a deeper depression and Will grew anxious with worry.

  
As concerned as Will was for his friend, the awful truth that had precipitated Steve’s declining mental state was far worse than anything his imagination could have conceived. There was no possible speculation that could have come anywhere near to what the grave catalyst to Steve’s despondent demeanor actually was. Will couldn’t even begin to fathom that Steve from here on out was suspended under the dangling guillotine of his mortality, and at a stealthy mid-week appointment in a sterile, austere office with hard edges and a doctor with an even harder exterior, he made grim plans and arrangements and decisions about his devastating, yet inevitable fate. The only thing Steve had some semblance of control over was the path that led there.

  
Hopper and Joyce were there through it all. They held his hand, talking out the options, and explaining the things he didn’t understand that the doctor couldn’t quite translate into English. In the end, he discontinued the chemo as previously intended, but elected to undergo a treatment that would likely delay the progression of the Leukemia through his central nervous system with minimal side effects and buy him more time without impacting the quality of his life too much.

  
Steve had his first infusion of Methotrexate directly into his spinal cord the day of the appointment. Despite having to lay flat for an hour afterwards, it went quickly and would eventually be spaced out to every two weeks. He only suffered a slight backache and headache and was a little dizzy in the day following, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle. He’d been through way worse.

  
Even though one could argue that the introduction of the medication could be classified as an aggressive therapy, the purpose was to give Steve as normal of a life as possible for as long as possible. Therefore, along with managing his nausea and pain and various other symptoms, it fell under the umbrella of ‘palliative care’. And when it all became too much for him to bear, when the cancer ran rampant through his cells unchecked and his steady decline was imminent, he’d be transitioned to hospice.

  
Hopper and Joyce were especially stricken at that one word, as if for them that was what drove the awful, unforgiving reality home. But Steve absorbed the information with a sort of detachment and partial numbness. He spoke and outlined his preferences when prompted, but he wasn’t fully present. It’s like a part of his brain just…shut off and blocked out what he knew were important aspects to his care. But Steve couldn’t help it. His mind was more consumed by arguably more absurd and inane thoughts:

  
Ideas like, he still needed to go out and buy Christmas presents. With everything going on, he hadn’t had a chance to get out and go shopping, never mind the wrapping which would be more difficult once the kids were on break for the holidays. Christmas dinner needed to be extra special this year and the potential menu choices flitted through his mind. Steve needed it to be cozy, yet over the top, both the decorations and the food dripping opulently with all the trimmings and good cheer, and the very embodiment of a Norman Rockwell painting.

  
The common denominator to all his musings was guilt. Guilt that he wouldn’t be here next year to do all those things. Guilt that this Christmas would be overshadowed by his illness and its consequences once again. Guilt that he would have to leave a job he actually _liked_ and was held open especially for him. Guilt for the worry and sadness now constantly reflected on Hopper's and Joyce’s faces. Guilt for all the milestones in the kids’ lives he would miss as they grew into adulthood. Guilt over all the pain he would cause when he shared his news – and everything that came after. As if Steve could help any of it.

  
These thoughts barreled through Steve’s head like a runaway freight train until they jumped the track and exploded from the fiery collision in his mind. When the smoke cleared, only one face was left lingering in the spaces between the synapses: Dustin. _How the hell would he get through this?_

  
Finding privacy away from the group would be problematic, and after much deliberation, Steve came to the conclusion that a weekday while the others were in school was the only viable solution. So, he snuck away to obtain permission from Claudia which also meant he would have to take her into his confidence and swear her to secrecy.

  
There were a lot of tears and embraces, but mercifully few questions. Claudia willingly pretended that Steve was running late that following Friday morning while he was, in fact, dropping the other kids off at school. She left for work with a white lie and a promise that Steve had called and said he was on his way.

  
Dustin peeked out through the heavy draperies awaiting the precise moment the BMW pulled into the driveway. When he spotted the familiar maroon vehicle, he hurriedly ran to the kitchen to grab his lunch and gathered up his backpack, expecting the impatient honk any second, but instead there was a knock on the door. Confused, Dustin swung open the door to a very troubled looking Steve.

  
Steve fidgeted in place, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Can I – can I come in?”

  
“C’mon, Steve! We gotta go. We’re late,” Dustin groused in annoyance, stating the obvious.

  
“No. No, we’re not.” Steve brought a tentative hand up to nervously scratch at the back of his neck. “You’re skipping today. Your mom called you off for me.”

  
“Steve, what the hell are you talking about? I can’t ‘skip’, okay,” Dustin made air quotes with his fingers, the irritation breaking through. “I’m getting ready to start the back half of my Junior year. _The_ most important year. You know…SATs, building up my college resume. Not to mention midterms are next week-“

  
“Dusty, _please_ ,” Steve cut off his younger friend’s rant mid-sentence. “It’s _important_.”

  
There was a quality to Steve’s voice that Dustin had never heard before. It halted his movements as abruptly as if he had been slapped in the face. And like a surge of electricity, the full awareness of what Steve had said hit him and simultaneously coursed through him. His mom approved him skipping classes. That knowledge coupled with Steve’s tone caused him to immediately step away from the door so that Steve could cross the threshold. “Steve? What’s going on? Steve?”

  
Steve stalled, situating his oxygen tank on the floor next to him as he perched on the sofa. He stared down at his fists balanced on his knees that he opened and closed, opened and closed, as if trying to manually pump the words out of his chest. But they were hopelessly stuck in his throat as he raised his head to meet Dustin’s eyes. Steve’s mouth hung ajar, but no sounds emerged. Everything he had practiced and carefully planned to say just wouldn’t come.

  
Dustin sank down onto the couch next to his closest friend, trying his best to ignore the palpitations and flip-flopping of his stomach. “Steve…”

  
All Steve could manage was the tiniest of whispers, “I’m sorry.”

  
“What? Steve? I don’t understand,” Dustin’s face was pinched and his brow furrowed with sickening dread. He placed an encouraging hand onto Steve’s shoulder that shook under his touch. Dustin briefly indulged in a bit of self-protective denial. “Did something happen with your parents? Are you okay? Talk to me, buddy.”

  
“I’m sorry,” Steve repeated a little stronger. “Just know that I tried, okay? I tried so hard. You know, to beat it. To win.”

  
His brain was sluggish to catch up with his heart, but as Steve’s tremulous voice caught and crumbled over the last few sentences he uttered, Dustin started to wish for a time machine so he could transport back to the moment when that tiny seed of comprehension wasn’t quite blooming.

  
“You were right, you know? Calling me a bad fighter. Saying I never won a fight?” Steve picked at a cuticle. “Still true. I’m gonna lose another one. I failed again.”

  
Dustin gasped as Steve indirectly confirmed the fears that had been taking root and flourishing the longer his friend spoke. There was still a small part of him that still held out hope and refused to believe what his ears were hearing. Steve – _his_ Steve – was far too young and strong and resilient and invincible. Even though his subconscious was screaming the truth at him inside, Dustin remained outwardly silent to allow Steve to fill in the blanks unhindered. There was still a chance he could be wrong. _God, please let him be wrong._

  
“I didn’t go to see my parents. I was being tested…and re-tested. Getting treatment to see if – if - I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I guess I just didn’t want to believe it was true. And I couldn’t – I don’t – I didn’t want…The last thing I wanted to do was cause you anymore hurt because of me,” Steve confessed to the floor before lifting his head and exposing all the anguish, hopelessness, and naked fear reflected in his saturated irises. “The cancer’s back, and it’s bad. Really, really bad. It’s um, in my – my spinal fluid now and this time – this time, there’s nothing – there’s nothing else they can do. I’m dying, Dusty.”

  
Dustin felt like he was going to be sick right then and there, at Steve’s feet. He barely restrained himself, but was unable to prevent the wetness from trailing down his cheeks. All the suffering – everything Steve had endured over the last three and a half years – cruelly seemed like it was now done in vain. If he hadn’t subjected himself to all that torment, the outcome would be no different. Dustin wanted to unleash all the rage, the turmoil, and the sheer grief that was consuming him into the universe over the unfairness of it all, but there would be time for that later. _Steve_ was the priority now, and Dustin was getting a glimpse into how genuinely… _fragile_ Steve actually was. How temporary and human and _breakable_ he was. The hairline fractures of his façade were splintering into open, cavernous wounds, and Dustin took it upon himself to try to bind them both back together.

  
There was absolutely nothing he could say in this moment to alleviate Steve’s sorrow – or his own - in any meaningful way, so he did the next best thing and launched his body into his friend’s arms, not only selfishly seeking out the physical contact himself, but permitting Steve to release some of the emotions he had been tenuously holding back.

  
“I’m sorry,” Steve once again choked out, hissing lowly as Dustin brushed his bruised spine where the needle had pierced two days before.

  
“First of all, stop apologizing, dammit! You have no control over any of this. Secondly, what just happened? Did I hurt you,” Dustin inquired worriedly as he held Steve at arm’s length and scrutinized him, his eyes searching every inch of his friend for any visible mark.

  
“No. No, it’s just sensitive is all.” Steve could ascertain by the expression on Dustin’s face that he wanted more of an explanation than that but was too polite to ask. So, Steve volunteered the information. “I um, I decided to – I decided to stop the chemo. It wasn’t doing any good, anyway. I figured, what’s the point. But there’s this treatment they shoot right into my back that’s supposed to slow it down or something. I don’t know. It’s supposed to give me more time, so I figured it couldn’t hurt to try, right?”

  
“Steve, I’ve told you before, you don’t need to justify your choices or how you handle your illness. It’s _your_ illness. You’re the one going through it. And if this is what you want, then I’m all for it.” Once the initial shock of Steve’s news and subsequent decisions pertaining to it, along with the brutal sounding way the other drug was administered, passed - and Steve had also sufficiently let Dustin’s words sink in - Dustin clasped one of Steve’s hands in both of his. “Does it make you sick like the others?”

  
“Well, it’s only been the one time,” Steve stuck his bottom lip out in contemplation and eventually shook his head. “But no, not so far. Just a little and it takes a lot less time which is a bonus. I don’t know if it will work, though.”

  
“How long?”

  
“What?”

  
Now it was Dustin’s turn to chew on his bottom lip. He reiterated more timidly, “How long?”

  
“Oh.” It was a question Steve was expecting but wished he didn’t know the answer to. “Um, well, they’re giving me four months. Maybe six if this other medicine works.”

  
Anticipating a new onslaught of tears or an angry outburst, even, Steve was astonished when there was very little reaction other than the telltale signs of the wheels turning and grinding in his intelligent friend’s head. Dustin hid a smile under his fingertips and turned to Steve with a glint of steely determination in his eyes. “Well then, we’re just going to have to make sure these next few months are the best of your life. Start making a bucket list.” When Steve graced him with a slightly flabbergasted and skeptical look, Dustin had a retort ready. “What? I’m serious. _Everyone_ has things they want to do or accomplish before they die. I know we’re just kids, but we’re not _that young_ and I can drive now thanks to you. We’re your friends and we love you, so if there’s anything you want – anything at all - let us help you.”

  
The older boy drew the younger boy in for another hug, gently guiding his hands higher up on his back to avoid the insertion site and propping his chin onto Dustin’s curls. Any form of verbal communication seemed grossly inadequate, but Steve attempted it, anyway. “You’ve already given me so much. I don’t know how I could ever thank you enough.”

  
“That’s the beauty of friendship. You don’t need to.”

  
There was nothing more that needed to be said after that. The pair lazed around on the couch just soaking up each other’s presence for the rest of the morning. Dustin fetched whatever Steve asked for, including the spare oxygen tank he left in the car. Discovering Steve hadn’t eaten yet, he fixed him a late breakfast. It was a symbiotic relationship where Dustin needed to _take care of_ Steve, and Steve needed to be _cared for._

  
Shortly before lunchtime, Steve rose from the couch. “I hate to leave you alone after…all this, but I need to take care of a few things, maybe take a nap before I pick up the others.”

  
“It’s okay, Steve. I’ll be fine. Just go rest,” Dustin assured him as he slipped on his jacket and picked up his backpack.

  
“What are you doing?”

  
“Going to school,” Dustin tightened the straps on his shoulders for emphasis. “If I’m lucky, I can make it by lunch and slip right into the afternoon classes. Don’t worry, I’ll just take my bike.”

  
“It’s twenty degrees, genius,” Steve cried incredulously. Dustin just shrugged. “Just get in the car, dipshit. I’ll take you.”

  
Dustin’s first inclination was to argue that Steve should take it easy and conserve his energy, but he didn’t have the heart. And Steve was right. It would have been a rather cold, windy ride, so Dustin followed him out to the car without a word. In fact, the majority of the trip was spent in silence save for the, ‘thanks’ Dustin muttered as Steve pulled up outside the doors to the cafeteria. The prolonged hug Dustin gave him before exiting said far more than anything that would have come tumbling clumsily and ineffectively from his lips. Steve understood.

  
The group was sitting at a table shoved up against the wall that they had claimed as their own at the beginning of the year, deeply engrossed in a lively discussion. It was near the window that faced the parking lot, but that didn’t necessarily mean they had seen his arrival. Dustin tossed his lunch bag down and pulled out the only empty chair, informally announcing his presence.

  
“I thought you were sick,” Lucas greeted him.

  
“As you can see, I’m perfectly fine,” Dustin sighed. “Just late.”

  
“Why are you late,” Max asked innocently. It was a natural question. “Doctor’s appointment?”

  
Before Dustin could answer, Mike responded condescendingly, “In case you hadn’t noticed it was _Steve_ that dropped him off. Not his mom. If it was a doctor’s appointment, it would have been his mom.”

  
“Okay, geez. Calm down. It was just a theory,” Max placated. “So, what gives?”

  
“Okay, yeah. I was with Steve,” Dustin admitted to the five sets of eyes that were now staring at him questioningly. If Steve’s car had been spotted then there was no point in pretending that, in an incredible coincidence, he was a passenger in an entirely _different_ maroon BMW.

  
“But why,” Lucas wondered.

  
“Yeah, why,” Mike echoed heatedly. “Now you’re skipping school to hang out with the guy? What could possibly be so important that it couldn’t wait?”

  
“It wasn’t just for the sake of hanging out, Mike.” Dustin shook his head miserably. “I don’t think it’s my place to say. Give Steve some time and I’m sure he’ll tell you.”

  
Mike slammed his hands down on the table. “Oh yeah. Sure! We’ll just wait for him to come to us. Good plan. Dude’s practically abandoned us-“

  
“He didn’t ‘abandon’ us, Mike. He’s just had some things to take care of lately,” Dustin interrupted with an undercurrent of warning in his tone. “Steve’s a great friend, so stop trying to imply otherwise!”

  
“Oh, now I need your permission to call it as I see it,” Mike mocked. “You say he didn’t, but dude’s been MIA for almost three weeks, and even now he’s back, he’s been obviously avoiding us. It’s the first time he’s seen us since Thanksgiving and he barely said two words on the way to school today. Some friend!”

  
“It is a little weird,” Lucas corroborated.

  
“Mrs. Byers…Hopper…they said he wasn’t feeling that well? Maybe that’s all it really is. I mean, c’mon guys, Steve’s still had a rough time of it,” Max reminded them.

  
“He has been…acting different,” Will offered somewhat reluctantly.

  
Mike just grew smugger as Will’s opinion only served to support his point. “See! Even Will agrees and he lives with him! After everything – after all we’ve been through together, he just decides he’s done with us. Just like that! Sounds like the Steve I used to know. I guess nothing’s changed, after all. I bet he didn’t even go ‘see his parents’. He probably flaked out on them like he did to us. No wonder they never come around.”

  
“That’s it! That’s enough!” The entire cafeteria turned in their direction as Dustin’s volume soared to an ear-piercing decibel, but everyone present at the table shot daggers towards Mike with their eyes – not just Dustin. They all knew how absent Steve’s parents were and how much it affected him, and to somehow suggest that Steve was in any way responsible for their neglect was hitting way too below the belt. “You don’t know _shit_ , Mike! So, shut up!”

  
Mike brought his hands down on the table again so hard that his plastic lunch tray jumped in the air from the force. “No, I won’t! He’s just leaving us behind like our friendship meant nothing to him! After we let him into The Party. It’s bullshit! _He’s_ bullshit!”

  
Dustin had no way of knowing how hurtful those words would have been to Steve if he had been there to hear them given that Mike’s older sister had once said almost the exact same thing to him in her drunken haze, but Dustin’s reaction was no less volatile than if had he known. Dustin’s chair clattered noisily to the ground as he leapt out of his seat, both his bottomless sorrow and his wrath warring for control. “How can you…How dare you…You don’t have a _clue_. He hasn’t left…he…he… Steve hasn’t left _anyone_ yet, but he will be soon enough - against his will. He – he doesn’t have a choice.” Dustin’s voice broke on the last syllable before he could stop it. “And I swear on my life and to all that is holy, that I will make you regret saying that when you find out what’s really going on, you _bastard!"_

  
Everyone else might’ve missed it, but Max immediately picked up on what Dustin had hurled at Mike in his defensive ire. She grabbed at his arm. “What do you mean? Dustin? What do you mean he’s leaving us?”

  
Dustin’s breaths came heavier and heavier as he fought against the tears that had been stowed away for later. ‘Later’ was here. He yanked his arm out of her grip and surrendered to all the emotions he had repressed since that morning, blurting out Steve’s secret, and too blinded by fury and heartbreak to feel any remorse about it. “Steve’s _dying_ , you fuckers. He told me this morning. He’s been trying to work up the courage to tell all of us. No, Mike…he didn’t go to see his parents. Happy now? He was too busy being diagnosed… _again_ …and trying to figure out if there’s any other options for him. If he could beat it again. There isn’t. And he can’t. Ever since the shit’s hit the fan, Steve has always been there – kind, loyal, _protective_ – for all of us. Even when his world is falling down around him, he’s still worried about how it’s gonna affect us. Not him. _Us_. So, screw you for all those things you said about him! Screw you for not giving him the benefit of the doubt! Screw you for not being able to give Steve his space to work things out without crucifying him for some transgression you conjured up. Screw you for not being a _friend_. Just… _screw you_ to Hell!”

  
Mike was finally rendered speechless as Dustin collapsed back into the chair at the end of his tirade, but El became unfrozen from her spot and joined Max at Dustin’s side. “So, Steve is sick again? Can’t be fixed?”

  
“Yeah, El. He’s sick again.” The tears that were originally only trickling now broke loose in torrents. “And no, they can’t fix it this time. So, don’t any of you assholes talk to me until you beg Steve’s forgiveness. And even then…”

  
“Dustin, we’re sorry. I should have seen it,” Will whispered regretfully. “I kinda _did_ see it. I just didn’t know what I was seeing.”

  
“Don’t tell me you’re sorry. Tell him.” Dustin gestured wildly with his hands, pointing at them for emphasis. “And if I ever, _ever_ hear anyone here say another bad word against him, I’ll never speak to you again. _Ever_. And I will spend the rest of my life making sure your life is miserable. Steve deserves better than that. And we don’t deserve _him!_ But, by God, I’m sure going to try to be worthy of his friendship while I’ve still got it and he’s still here. With us. With _me_. And the other thing I’m gonna do? Make the rest of his short time left on Earth as easy and as filled with as many good things as I possibly can. If you can’t do the same, then fuck you! I don’t need you! And neither does Steve!”

  
With that, Dustin shot back up and stormed off. He ignored the group for the rest of the day until he was forced into sharing the same space with them in the BMW. Steve noticed the tense atmosphere right away, but didn’t pick up on the reason why immediately. It wasn’t until he detected the hundredth furtive, pitying glance thrown his way in the rearview mirror that he turned an accusatory glare in Dustin’s direction. “You told them.”

  
Dustin twisted in the passenger seat. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t have a choice, Steve. They were being total _dicks!_ In fact, some of them don’t even deserve to ride in your car. Why don’t you drop them off right here and they can walk home?”

  
Steve wanted to be mad, but he didn’t have it in him to be. It saved him from yet another tough conversation. Jonathan and Nancy and Robin still had to be told…and his parents. He wasn’t looking forward to any of them, but he had already decided to procrastinate the latter until after the New Year. Or maybe even later, if he could help it. They would likely not care either way, so there was no hurry. He refused to mar this last holiday season with their apathetic disdain.

  
He needn’t have worried about the kids’ reactions, though. As soon as he pulled into the Byers’ driveway and shifted the car into park and extricated himself from the vehicle, Steve found himself lavished with apologies that he didn’t quite understand the motivation behind and surrounded by a huddle whose foundation was interwoven with a love and kinship so powerful, it stole the breath from his already depleted lungs.

  
Not that Steve didn’t appreciate all the affection directed at him, but the cold air was burning in his chest and causing him some difficulty in his air-starved lungs. “Alright, ya bunch of saps. Let’s move this indoors before we all freeze our asses off. If you play your cards right there may be some hot chocolate in your future, and I think – I _think_ there might be enough stuff in the pantry to make cookies.”

  
The somber mood was somewhat lifted at Steve’s suggestion, but Dustin hung back as the other five trampled through the front door. He laid a hand on the older boy’s arm as if to say, ‘Are you really okay?’ Steve nodded in response to his silent question before asking his own. Dustin returned a sad, apologetic smile.

  
“It’s okay. C’mon,” Steve said aloud as he slung an arm around Dustin’s shoulders and guided him towards the house. “I think I have an extra bag of marshmallows I stashed somewhere that I can sneak ya.”

  
It was almost impossible to remain sullen as jolly Christmas music blared out of the beat-up speakers. The kids twirled through the small kitchen, taking Dustin’s comments to heart and being as silly as possible to elicit a smile or fond look from Steve. They dodged one another and dished out cookie dough before swapping the done cookies for the unbaked ones in an assembly line as Steve supervised.

  
“Geez, Steve, you’ve been holding out on us. When did you learn how to make gingerbread cookies,” Lucas exclaimed, reaching for one fresh out of the oven.

  
Steve slapped his hand away on reflex and shrugged. “Taught myself, I guess. Just found a recipe I liked and stuck with it.”

  
“Well, you have excellent taste. And skills. Your recipes are _awesome_ ,” Max declared around a mouthful of cookie Steve had been too distracted to scold her for taking. “Do you think you could write some of them down for us?”

  
“Sure. I mean, I guess.” Steve acted nonchalant, but Max’s simple request delighted him and sparked a larger idea. He had been planning on giving the kids as unforgettable and as extravagant a Christmas as his sizable bank account would permit, but including something more personal along with the material things he could purchase from a store would mean so much more. He could remember the hottest new toy or up-to-date electronics being nice to have, but without someone to play with or share them with, those things were useless. Empty possessions. More than the latest, shiny new gadgets, Steve had craved _people_ \- most of all his parents. He wanted something as simple and inexpensive as their time which he had come to learn that they were incapable of bestowing on him. Steve’s own time was limited, but what he could do for his family was leave parts of himself behind. Mementos, trinkets – _memories_ – that they could carry with them and be reminded of with unyielding surety of just how much they _mattered_ to him and how much he _wanted_ to be with them.

  
Steve was so lost in thought that he didn’t realize everyone had stopped decorating and belting out every Christmas tune drifting out of the radio in unison. They all stared, mouths agape. “What? Do I have icing up my nose or something?”

  
“No, you dork. You can _sing_ ,” Max blinked at him mesmerized. “How come you never told us? Or _showed_ us?”

  
“How many positive attributes can one person have, for Christ’s sake? Good looks. Perfect hair. Perfect pitch. So annoying. And unfair,” Mike huffed before adding, “But, she’s right. You really have a nice voice.”

  
“It’s okay, I guess.” Steve’s cheeks glowed pink, embarrassed that he had been caught doing something he had never dared to attempt in front of anyone else.

  
“Just _okay_ ,” Dustin’s jaw still hung open in awe. “What other talents have you’ve been hiding from us, oh great one? Any more musical gifts you’ve selfishly been keeping to yourself?”

  
Steve acted slightly put-off and suddenly interested in the ceiling to disguise his self-consciousness. “I guess, maybe, I can play the piano a little.”

  
“How much is ‘a little’,” Max challenged and seeing the expression on his face, decided to call his bluff. “You’re _good_ , aren’t you? Like really good.”

  
“Maybe. I don’t know,” Steve lifted his shoulders briefly before dropping them back down again. “I took lessons from the time I was five until Freshman year when my parents got tired of hearing it and locked it away in storage. After that, I kinda…just didn’t anymore.”

  
The mood plummeted again as one more childhood joy that Steve had been deprived of by controlling, yet distant parents was revealed to them, but Will managed to prevent it from falling entirely with his excitement. “That’s so cool! I’ve always wanted to learn how! I wish we had a piano so you could teach me.”

  
“I’d like that, too,” Steve hummed, distractedly pushing a cookie crumb around the formica table with his finger. It might take a fair amount of persuasion on his part, and some creative furniture rearranging, but he bet he could track down his old piano and have it tuned up within the next two weeks.

  
The kids resumed decorating, clutching onto the piping bags that were oozing colorful icing as the topic shifted to what was on the top of everyone’s Christmas lists. Each kid enthusiastically described their heart’s biggest desires to one another while Steve only half-listened, having retreated into his own world.

  
Fearing that Steve’s lack of contribution to the conversation was in relation to their comparatively shallow and inanely frivolous Christmas morning aspirations, Will softly offered something much more vital than mere material things and something less perceivably insensitive to Steve’s plight. “I know what I would wish for most, but it’s – it’s not possible. Is there anything we _can_ do for you, Steve? What would you like most?”

  
Steve smiled sweetly at the younger boy’s pure, unmitigated thoughtfulness. It was something that had often crossed his mind and he didn’t even have to pretend to search his heart for the answer. He covered Will’s hand with his own to illustrate his sincerity. “I know it probably sounds cliché, but… _this_. It’s all I ever wanted as a kid. To have people around to do all the stuff beforehand with. To not wake up on Christmas morning alone…again. To know what it’s like to have a big family to go to after. You’ve already given that to me and I’m so, so grateful. I don’t need anything else.”

  
Normally, these were private notions that Steve would have kept guarded and locked inside for all eternity. He would’ve dismissed the question with a laugh to avoid being too exposed and possibly judged for painting himself in such a pathetic, albeit honest, light. But the time for mincing words was rapidly spilling out of the hourglass. The kids deserved to hear their importance and the impact they had on him. A heaviness fell upon the room at not only the depiction of such a depressing and lonely childhood, but Steve’s rare display of candor and raw vulnerability in admitting it.

  
To Steve’s enormous relief, Max sought to alleviate some of the emotional awkwardness with her light teasing. “Boy, there’s so much sap in here, you could turn it into enough syrup to cover El’s eggos for _life_.”

  
Chuckles scattered amongst their group as El perked up at the mention of her favorite food. They finished up in the kitchen, and although Steve knew he should clean up – or at least, make the kids do it since most of the mess was theirs, he couldn’t pry himself away from the call of the couch once a Christmas movie was playing in the VCR.

  
To Joyce’s credit, she didn’t even flinch when she bustled in the door after work and witnessed the state of her kitchen. Her focus was drawn to the septet cuddled up on the couch, all half-asleep. Steve’s long limbs were stretched over the coffee table and each kid was snuggled up to a part of him in some way, his cursed oxygen tank cradled in Mike’s lap.

  
The mother gazed fondly at all her ‘kids’ and rifled through her purse to capture the moment, a habit she had picked up from her eldest son. At the click of the camera, Steve raised his head from where it had dropped against the back of the couch and succinctly explained, “They know.”

  
“Well, okay then,” Joyce readily accepted. “I guess it’s pizza for dinner.”

  
She was as equally agreeable when Steve had brought up the subject of the piano. He had prepared to whip out the excuse that it was _for Will and the kids_ – and a little for himself, to reclaim a part of himself that he actually liked. None of it was necessary, however, because Joyce was as understanding and wonderful as always.

  
The piano was delivered, placed against the far wall, and tuned by Christmas Eve where Will and Steve sat side by side on the bench as the older boy patiently demonstrated the scales to the younger boy while they awaited this evening’s guests. The only thing missing was the arrival of Nancy and Jonathan who had been delayed by late mid-terms and inclement weather outside of Indiana. With some luck, they’d be here shortly, though.

  
Steve poorly concealed his winces until Joyce felt compelled to intervene. “Will, honey, why don’t we let Steve get some rest before everyone gets here? Steve you’ve done so much today, and I want you to enjoy all your hard work. Why don’t you go lay down for a bit, sweetheart?”

  
“Yeah, okay,” Steve hefted his oxygen onto his back without an argument which was a testament to how much discomfort and fatigue he was really feeling. He passed a hand through Will’s bowl cut. “Keep practicing, squirt. I think there’s some music books with Christmas tunes in the bench if you want to look through them. I’ll be back.”

  
Not even an hour later, Jonathan and Nancy burst through the door in tandem, as if they had orchestrated their synchronized entrances. Nancy ignored the strong recommendation to let Steve nap, too impatient to see her friend and completely unaware of the reasons why it was so vital he do so.

  
“Nance,” Steve mumbled sleepily at the figure now filling up his doorway. Jonathan was more compliant to his mother’s not-quite-request, but still peeked over his girlfriend’s shoulder. “Oh, hey. Welcome back.”

  
“Steve! Get up! You don’t want to sleep through Christmas, do you,” Nancy admonished jokingly, coming over to give him a hug as he pushed the covers off of himself, still blissfully ignorant of all that had transpired in their absence.

  
“I’m coming. I’m coming. Cool your jets.” Steve heaved himself up and swayed dizzily for a moment before shooing them out the door. “Give a guy a minute to change, will ya?”

  
Jonathan grinned at Steve’s lighthearted demeanor, but couldn’t help but observe the transient unsteadiness and flicker of culpability that danced over his features. He also didn’t discount the way his mom, Hopper, and all six kids hovered around Steve throughout the evening, clinging to his side and reaching out, but not quite touching him as if to stabilize and ground him if the need suddenly arose.

  
Will dragged him towards the piano after dinner and all but _begged_ Steve to perform the songs printed onto the sheet music. He picked one that he insinuated, but didn’t outright verbalize, had special sentimental value to him:

  
_I’m dreaming tonight of a place I love_   
_Even more than I usually do_   
_And although I know it’s a long road back_   
_I promise you_

  
_I’ll be home for Christmas_   
_You can count on me_   
_Please have snow and mistletoe_   
_And presents under the tree_

  
_Christmas Eve will find me_   
_Where the love light gleams_   
_I’ll be home for Christmas_   
_If only in my dreams_

Everyone’s voices had joined in, but slackened off gradually and cunningly one by one to allow Steve’s clear and melodic voice to take center stage without him being fully aware of it. The kids didn’t seem all that surprised at his hidden talent, but the adults were positively astonished at the pleasant tones that vibrated and floated out of Steve’s vocal cords.

  
Will leaned his head against the velvety green cashmere of Steve’s sweater to quietly encourage him to continue. Steve obliged by ghosting his fingers over the keys until coming to rest on the first notes of what he finally decided to play. It was another familiar and somewhat melancholy classic:

_Faithful friends who are dear to us_   
_Gather near to us once more_

  
_Through the years we all will be together_   
_If the fates allow_   
_Hang a shining star upon the highest bough_   
_And have yourself a merry little Christmas now_

Comprehension, as unhurried and sluggish as molasses, coated Jonathan’s membranes and saturated his neurons as he scrutinized the other occupants of the room while the chorus resounded throughout the cozy home. All but he and Nancy became immediately, and somewhat bewilderingly, misty-eyed at such allegedly innocent carols whose words must have held more duplicit connotations and carried deeper significance than was first apparent on the surface.

  
The knowledge seeped into and lodged inside his brain, adhering to its folds and crevices with the residual stickiness that such a syrup left behind. The protracted gazes at Steve when his head was turned, as if committing every feature and surrounding detail to memory. The hushed plans to sneak everyone back in after Steve was safely nestled into his bed, presumably with sugarplums dancing above his head. The extra care and tenderness extended towards the boy, the even more abundant compliments to his cooking, and the outstretched limbs ready to catch him if Steve were to so much as stumble, let alone fall. And all the glistening eyes currently transfixed onto the boy who sang such poignant and clandestinely regretful lyrics with such a plainly longing and wistful expression gracing his angular features that it tugged at Jonathan’s heart until it cracked, then splintered under the alarming realization.

  
The fates _weren’t_ going to allow them to be all together next year or ever again thereafter. He wasn’t yet privy to the how or what or why, but that was relatively inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. The fact remained the same – that Steve would be ripped from the fabric of their lives and he soon wouldn’t _be here_ anymore. Jonathan’s own eyes watered with the crushing epiphany. A muted, choked sound must have escaped that caused Steve’s head to shoot up from its bowed position. He gave a curt shake in Jonathan’s direction in warning against shattering the moment prematurely.

  
Once he played the last chords, Steve rubbed at his disproportionately sore and aching hands. Hopper clapped him on the shoulder. “You sure are something else, kid.”

  
Joyce unfolded the stepladder she had previously propped up next to the door for their family tradition of placing the angel on top of the tree on Christmas Eve. Usually, there was a small scuffle over whose turn it was for the privilege, but there was no contest over who got the honor this year.

  
Steve slipped the oxygen off his shoulders and into Hopper’s waiting arms, the policeman shifting it so he had one side free to help the boy keep his balance as he climbed the steps and precariously leaned over. Jonathan grabbed his nearby camera and was nonplussed at his inability to get the lens to properly focus until it dawned on him that it wasn’t the equipment at all, but the blurriness in his own eyes.

  
The boisterous accolades of the Chief as the angel was deposited to its rightful spot at the apex of the evergreen only marginally drowned out the excited murmurs from the younger teens. Steve’s balance suffered from the change in position, and he wobbled and teetered a bit until Hopper held up a steadying arm. Not trusting the boy’s equilibrium enough for the short descent, Steve was literally swept off his feet as Hopper seized his legs in his firm grip and raised him onto his shoulder.

  
“Oh, this is too perfect,” Dustin laughed hysterically. “You gotta say it.”

  
“Say what?”

  
“You know… _the line_.” Steve just stared at him a bit dumbly and slightly annoyed which exasperated Dustin. “Only _the_ most quintessential Christmas line. You know, from Charles Dickens’ classic? ‘A Christmas Carol’? Tiny Tim? Does any of this ring a bell? C’moooooon, Steve. Tell me you know it.”

  
“I’m not tiny and my name’s not Tim,” Steve sassed. He _did_ finally get what Dustin was after, but he wanted to mess with him a bit first before giving in and giving him what he wanted. But Dustin seemed so disappointed at Steve’s evident unwillingness that he immediately aborted his ribbing. Steve had really believed and thought that Dustin knew by now that he would give him the world on a silver platter if it was within his power – even if it meant a little humiliation on the older boy’s part. That didn’t mean Steve wasn’t going to act like he was doing it under great duress. So, Steve groaned melodramatically, “Fiiiiiiine. Don’t say I didn’t give you your Christmas gift early, Henderson. _Gdblssevrone_.”

  
The sentence came out so jumbled and muffled that Dustin theatrically cupped his ear and angled it toward his friend. “What was that, buddy? I couldn’t quite hear you.”

  
Steve cleared his throat and projected a little louder, rolling his eyes for show. “I said: God bless us everyone. Now put me down, Hopper before they want you to shove your hand up my ass and start working on your ventriloquist act,” the boy suspended in the air said sardonically which elicited some hearty guffaws from Hopper.

  
Fortunately, sharp knocking at the door interrupted any further degradation on Steve’s part. The kids were being “picked up” for the evening. In reality, they were going back to their homes to pack bags and collect gifts before returning in a couple hours, after Steve was soundly sleeping.

  
The kids conspired together and eventually approached Hopper and Mrs. Byers with their idea. It was a good one that the adults had no trouble not only allowing, but facilitating. Claudia Henderson didn’t hesitate to say ‘yes’. She adored Steve and already knew of his situation. And once the Sinclairs learned of the circumstances, they were fully on board, too. And without Neil in the picture anymore, Susan was more than amenable to Max spending Christmas at the Byers’ for the boy that had stood up to Billy and was ready to step in to defend her daughter time and again. She had had no idea how to repay his valiant kindness, so this seemed the least she could do.

  
Surprisingly, it was Karen Wheeler that was the hardest to sway. She had missed her daughter terribly, and even though Nancy was oblivious to her role in such plans, the mother had been reluctant to not spend any of the holiday with her. Joyce calmly and persistently persuaded her by reminding her that the whole motivation driving this was to give Steve the most spectacular Christmas they could, and to fill his last one with so much love and heartfelt meaning, the likes of which he’d never experienced at this level before. This was his last shot and there wouldn’t be another opportunity next year or the year after or the year after that – for Steve or the kids – to spend it with one another.

  
Eventually, Karen relented and agreed to pick Mike up, only to return him a short time later for the night. She stood awkwardly shivering on the porch as she peeked around the door at the joy radiating from within, and maybe a little from the shock of seeing her somewhat cynical and belligerent son throw himself around Steve’s waist and cling to him with a ferocity that she had never witnessed him display towards anyone before – even Will. Karen searched for Nancy, but didn’t see her, assuming she was somewhere else in the house, glued to Jonathan’s side.

  
Her presumptions weren’t unfounded. While Steve was distracted saying goodbye to the kids, Jonathan had whisked Nancy outside to the back porch to fill her in on the plans for tonight, the reasons why, and all he had pieced together and later confirmed with his mother.

  
Maybe Steve would be pissed at him, wanting to tell her himself, in his own words and his own time. But maybe he would be thankful to Jonathan for relieving him of the unpleasant duty. Either way, Jonathan had known that Nancy wouldn’t return to stay the night here without a solid explanation, and she was too smart to buy vague excuses. Nothing less than the terrible truth would suffice, and Jonathan couldn’t give her all the details that she would invariably ask for, but he could provide a skeletal account and hopefully temporarily prevent her from delving too deep and accosting Steve on what was otherwise such a happy occasion.

  
Jonathan watched as her face fell and caved in on itself in slow motion. Stray snowflakes floated down from the starry sky and stuck in her lashes, the tears in them turning to beaded crystals. Her lips wobbled, but it wasn’t from the cold. Nancy rashly took a step towards the back door, but Jonathan gently latched onto her wrist and held her there until she could purge her initial impulses from her system. “Nance…it’s Christmas. Don’t ask Steve to explain it tonight. Please. Let him have some peace.”

  
Nancy nodded shakily against his jacket, her breath forming small clouds of white. “Okay, yeah. But I should still say goodbye. I know you said I’m coming back to spend the night, but if I don’t stop in on my way out, he’ll wonder why.” She sniffled. “Plus, I just need to see him right now.”

  
They stood out there awhile longer until Nancy had fully composed herself. Jonathan was adamant that they not bring it up to Steve, but those good intentions were blown all to hell when Nancy laid eyes on Steve again and was unable to keep them from welling up, even as she fought against it. Jonathan just sighed and gave Steve an apologetic glance. “Sorry, man. I tried.”

  
Steve echoed the sigh from his reclined position on the bed. “It’s okay.”

  
“So, it’s – it’s all true,” Nancy pushed out. Steve frowned and nodded, knowing he couldn’t lie to her and pretend otherwise. Nancy’s hand flew to her mouth, covering it to stifle the cry. “Steve-“

  
“It’s okay, Nance. C’mere,” Steve lifted his arm in invitation, once again finding himself in the unconventional role of comforter instead of the one being comforted as she snuggled into his side. “You too, Byers. You’re making me nervous just standing in the doorway like that.”

  
The trio formed an odd picture, huddled on the bed with one another, but Steve couldn’t bring himself to care. Jonathan sat rigidly by his side while Nancy trembled with repressed emotion in his hold. An immeasurable amount of time passed before Nancy sat up and parted her lips.

  
Before Nancy could even produce a sound, Steve held up a hand. “I know we need to talk about it, but not tonight. Please, Nance. I’m so tired and I just can’t right now.”

  
“I know,” she whispered sympathetically, “but is there anything we can do for you? I mean, like right now, before I go home?”

  
Steve could have managed to do it himself, but he understood her need to take action – to _do something_ for him. Anything, no matter how small it seemed. “Actually, yeah. There’s about a million presents in my closet. If you could put them under the tree for me, that would be awesome. I could do it myself, but…I’m almost out of oxygen and I’d rather not open a new canister just to hook it up to the bigger one in here a few minutes later.”

  
“Of course.” Nancy jumped off the bed and knelt by the closet, extracting every brightly wrapped box.

  
“You want me to switch you over,” Jonathan offered. When he received a positive response, Jonathan turned on the bedside machine and connected the hose to it before shutting the other one off. Once Nancy had exited with the first load of presents, Jonathan asked his own question. “So, were we the last two? Does everyone know now?”

  
Steve slowly shook his head. “Robin’s still out of the loop. She’s another state over and I didn’t want to tell her over the phone, you know?” Steve purposely didn’t mention his parents. That was a completely different problem for another day.

  
Jonathan outwardly seemed to accept that without pressing the issue, but inside two school of thoughts were warring with each other. Steve had a point, but on the other hand, Robin should get the choice whether to be here or not. He debated with himself as he took armload after armload into the living room. Tracking her down may prove difficult, but he finally decided he had to try.

  
Jonathan and Nancy said goodnight to a barely awake Steve, the latter caressing his cheek and letting her lips come to rest chastely against his forehead with a promise to see him tomorrow. Jonathan drove her home and waited outside as she gathered her things. They crept back in and helped the others covertly sneak back in, as well, some having to be shushed more than others.

  
The entire group rose at the crack of dawn after only a few hours of sleep to set the stage and be ready for whatever time Steve awoke. Steve scratched at his head to tame his unruly hair and padded down the hall sleepily, following the soft strains of Christmas music. It was fairly quiet, too quiet for the Byers’ home, but a lack of sound was something that Steve had been accustomed to on Christmas morning and was too exhausted to call into question or be suspicious of - until the very second they shouted gleefully at him:

  
“Merry Christmas, Steve!”

  
They were all here. Every. single. one. of. them. Not a soul was missing. The twinkling lights on the tree kaleidoscoped together into a beautiful rainbow of luminosities above the bountiful mound of presents. The cinnamon and pine aromas courtesy of several brightly burning candles interspersed throughout the room and reflecting off all the garland and tinsel and ornaments - one of which bore his name and became a permanent fixture on the tree alongside Will’s and Jonathan’s and Joyce’s - was just so perfect. All of it.

  
It was far beyond anything Steve could imagine in his wildest dreams that he ever coveted or ached for. And these wonderful, generous people had made what he once thought was impossible for himself, possible, and did so freely and unconditionally, with a smile on their faces. Just for him. For his happiness.

  
Steve was so touched by the grandiosity of the gesture and everything it meant, that he sagged onto the piano bench, overwhelmed and overcome with all the emotions it evoked. He wasn’t even aware that he had been moved to tears until El sat next him and grazed her fingertips against his wet cheeks in concern. “Oh, no. Unhappy? Sad tears?”

  
“No. God, no,” Steve breathed. “Happy tears. _Very_ happy tears.”

  
El was confused by this concept, but Steve wrapped her in a tight hug and told her he would explain later.

  
It wasn’t the only instance that morning that would instigate the waterworks. All the love and laughter that flowed through this room allowed Steve’s guilt over putting them through something this awful, to ease up a bit. It gave him some peace knowing that he was a small part of such a joyful, strong, loyal, and loving group of people as this. He knew that just by being here right now and existing in their world, he was causing them pain, but they wouldn’t have it any other way or ever show it. But how could he possibly keep their hearts from breaking every time they looked at him from here on out? They were going through his illness just as much as he was and had been since the very beginning. When he hurt, they hurt right alongside him – both for and with him – through it all. They would be there at the end, when the time came, and suffer right along with him during his death. He couldn’t stop the hurt and the pain he continued to cause, but it gave him a modicum amount of comfort to know they’d be alright in the end because of moments like these and that no matter what, they still had each other. So, once again he was moved to tears.

  
Seeing the kids open his gifts brought on yet another fresh batch. Or maybe he had just never really stopped. The gaming console Steve bought each of them had been out for quite awhile, but all the parents refused to indulge the kids, having just purchased an Atari within the past couple years. Steve had no such qualms over spoiling them.

  
“Steve, you magnificent sonofabitch!” Dustin received several withering looks for his language which he ignored as he turned the box over and over in his hands. “How did you know?”

  
“Steve! That’s too much,” Joyce protested.

  
“Pffft,” he waved her off before addressing Dustin. Steve couldn’t exactly take his sizable trust fund with him, and he’d rather see the kids enjoy it. “I don’t know. You only talk about that Mario guy _every day_ , and how superior the…thingies are supposed to be.”

  
“ _Graphics_ , Steve. Jesus, have we taught you nothing,” Dustin acted personally affronted.

  
“Just open the other one before I change my mind and return yours for someone that doesn’t make fun of me, dipshit,” Steve told him wryly. “And don’t take the Lord’s name in vain. It’s Christmas, for Christ’s sake.”

  
“Alright, _geez_ ,” Dustin overemphasized the last word. “Get your panties out of a bunch, grandma.”

  
“Dustin,” Max giggled. “Leave Steve alone. He’s awesome.” She unwrapped the rectangular object held in her hands. “You did it? You wrote it all down for us? Thank you _so much_!”

  
“At least _someone_ is appreciative of all my efforts,” Steve crossed his arms. “And yes, I did. You’re welcome.”

  
Dustin thumbed through the book’s laminated pages, seeming vaguely impressed. “Okay, not bad. There’s only one problem with it, though. There’s an ingredient missing from every recipe.”

  
“Oh yeah? And what’s that, Betty Crocker,” Steve sarcastically challenged.

  
“ _You_ , dumbass,” Dustin grinned mischievously. “You always make everything with just the right amount of your love infused into every dish.”

  
Steve snatched the book from Dustin’s loose grip, closing it and then lightly whapping him on the head with it. “Gag me with a spoon, Henderson. You are, like, the biggest cheeseball of all.”

  
“You know you love me. C’mon, bring her in,” Dustin widened his arms and closed the distance between himself and Steve. Steve pretended to go stiff and be put-out by Dustin’s hug, but he secretly enjoyed both the banter and the embrace.

  
There was no other way to describe it. Christmas morning was…magical. And the rest of the families arriving after lunch only added an exclamation point to the day. Steve was passed around in so many arms, cuddled and rocked and kissed that he wasn’t sure there was enough of him to go around, but he reveled in every minute of it.

  
Just before dinner, Steve stepped out onto the porch for a brief break and some air. Darkness had already fallen, and the full moon had risen high in the clear, velvety sky illuminating the powdery white snow and transforming it into a thousand tiny, sparkling diamonds. A peaceful hush that seemed to be reserved only for this one night alone blanketed everything.

  
Boots scraping against the far side of the porch broke the spell. “Pretty, ain’t it?”

  
Steve grinned at Hopper and the cigarette between his fingers. “Yeah. It’s something else.”

  
“Want one?” Steve looked aghast, but didn’t say no. “Gotta be able to do it without your oxygen on. And don’t tell Joyce. She’d have my head.”

  
Steve removed the tank and set it next to a pile of fine snow particles that had blown up against the frame of the house. He took the one Hopper had shaken out for him. “So, why are you letting me do this, then?”

  
Hopper shrugged as he lit it, the orange flame a hot, colorful contrast to the rest of the pale, cold world. “It’s Christmas. And truthfully, the damage is done. You should get to enjoy what you want while you can. It’s not like it’ll make a big difference either way.”

  
Steve hummed noncommittally, inhaling his first puff and coughing slightly.

  
Hopper leaned his forearms on the railing. “How you holding up, kid?”

  
Steve’s lips split into a wide, dreamy grin. “Tired. Hurting. But so happy.” He let his lower back be supported by the railing. “Today has been amazing. I’ll never be able to thank you guys enough.”

  
“No thanks needed. It’s what we do.” The policeman flicked ash into the yard. “You deserve to be happy, Steve.”

  
They finished their smokes in companionable silence save for the soft coughs coming from Steve, each man taking in the enchanting calm before reentering the chaotic and lively festivities. Hopper assisted Steve in reconnecting himself and ushered him back inside.

  
They were barely in the door with their jackets off when a rattling knock came from the other side. Almost everyone they knew was within these four walls. Steve furrowed his brows in puzzlement, but went to answer it as he was closest to it.

  
On the other side was a very serious, stoic, but somewhat frazzled Robin. Her eyes raked over him from head to toe before abruptly launching herself forward and enveloping him, causing him to stagger back a few steps in surprise. But Robin never let go, squeezing him even tighter and pressing her face against him so hard it hurt.

  
Steve’s shoulder began to collect moisture. Whether it be from her hot breath or uncharacteristic tears he couldn’t tell, but didn’t dare venture a guess. He just held on until he felt her hiccup and push back a bit. “Why didn’t you tell me, Dingus?”

  
“Jonathan,” Steve said simply, not waiting for a confirmation before continuing. “I was gonna tell you, Rob. I swear. I just didn’t want to do it over the phone. And not today of all days. We can talk about it…just some other time. Please.”

  
Steve’s eyes were scrunched to slits and his mouth was turned down in a desperate frown. Robin could read in his pleading gaze just how badly he needed her to accept that and respect it right now, so she did. “Okay.”

  
“Thanks.” He grabbed her by the shoulders and steered her towards the living room. “Grab a seat. We’re just about to eat.”

  
It took two long tables just to be able to gather everyone around for the meal, and both tables were smothered in food. There was so much to choose from that Steve thought that everyone present could have another dinner together tomorrow just to polish off the leftovers.

  
Both during and after dinner, Steve continued studying the sea of faces and drinking it all in. Someone had hung mistletoe and it was cute to watch various pairs get caught underneath. Nancy had cornered Jonathan. Mike and El were next, although from a distance it seemed like Mike had to explain the tradition to her first. Then Max and Lucas. Steve laughed as Mrs. Wheeler pecked Mike on the cheek, and he swiped it away with a disgusted look on his face. Dustin had the total opposite reaction to his own mother, beaming up at her antics. That kid was so full of love, with the ability to equally give and receive it without any trace of self-consciousness, that whatever woman he wound up with would be the luckiest woman on the face of the Earth. Steve had no doubt he would treat her like a _queen_.

  
The Sinclairs seemed so in love, and even Karen and Ted participated, albeit a little more robotically. Somehow Hopper and Joyce passed by each other under the threshold, and the encouragement from the peanut gallery was unrelenting. They finally kissed awkwardly only to be met with catcalls and whistles before Hopper stomped away muttering under his breath.

  
Steve had gotten his fair share, too, but had all but forgotten it as he headed back to the kitchen for a drink. Dustin followed him, still going on and on about in what order he was going to use his gifts the next day. His excitement was endearing, but Steve raised his head in horror hoping the other boy wouldn’t notice. He did. “Oh no. I swear to God, Henderson…If you try to kiss me, I’ll deck you.”

  
“Relax. Take a chill pill, Steve. You’re so tense,” Dustin seemed slightly insulted that he would even deem it necessary to say that. “I’m not gonna do that. I’m going to do this…”

  
Dustin punched him in the arm and then hugged him. The punch wasn’t very hard, but Steve still let out a dramatic, “Ow! Jesus! So, when two guys get stuck under the mistletoe, it warrants a punch and a hug?”

  
“No. The hug was for the mistletoe. The punch was for insinuating that there might be something wrong with two guys kissing,” Dustin said seriously.

  
“That’s not what I said at all! And that’s not what I meant! It’s just – you know what? Never mind!” Steve crossly rubbed his arm, clearly offended at the implications. “You know I’m not like that and don’t buy into that hate crap, so why would you even say something like that?”

  
“I like to mess with you, but I obviously took it too far this time.” Dustin chewed on his lip. “I know just how big of a heart you really have, and it was shitty of me to suggest otherwise. Sorry, Steve.”

  
“That’s better, shithead.” Steve put the younger boy in a headlock. “Go get me a drink, and I’ll think about forgiving you.”

  
Steve planted his hands on his hips as he waited for Dustin to return. Robin and Will were tucked away in a nearby corner, deep in conversation. Will had looked increasingly miserable throughout the evening, but his expression briefly brightened up a bit. Steve was concerned and wasn’t quite sure what happened between this morning and now to change his mood so drastically, but Robin clearly had it covered at the moment. He would ask the kid about it some other time.

  
The hour was growing late, and one by one, the families trickled out the door. Steve thanked everyone profusely for their part in making today extra special for him. They each brushed it off, telling him it was nothing, but he wouldn’t let them. To him it was _everything_. But he did gratefully accept the avalanche of hugs and compliments and well wishes and returned them with some of his own.

  
As Steve lay in bed waiting for sleep to claim him and give him respite from his throbbing bones and dizzying exhaustion, another feeling eased his discomfort a bit…utter contentment. It didn’t erase his physical ailments completely, but it made them easier to bear. He had been given a gift that had eluded him his whole life up until now, and he would spend every moment until his last breath not taking any of his chosen family’s love and support for granted and showing them that they meant as much to him as he did to them.

  
His bedroom door creaked open and Will stepped tentatively into the room. “Steve, are you still up?”

  
Steve pushed himself up a little. “Yeah, Will. Can’t sleep? Everything okay?”

  
“Yeah, mostly,” Will shrugged.

  
“Something’s bothering you.” It was a statement, not a question. “You’ve seemed a little down this evening. Hopefully, Robin helped you out. I happen to know she gives great pep talks.”

  
Will’s eyes widened in surprise at how perceptive Steve was. Not that it was an impossible feat for him, but there was so much going on tonight that Will thought he had succeeded at fading into the woodwork. “Yeah, she does, I guess.”

  
Will didn’t deny his morose state, and he obviously wanted to talk or he wouldn’t be in Steve’s room this late at night. He was just having trouble getting started. Steve scooted over and patted the spot beside it. “Wanna tell me what’s on your mind?”

  
It was a full minute before he received an answer, but Steve waited patiently while Will settled himself onto the edge of the bed. “Some days are harder than others, and I guess, I’m just sick of being…different. But I can’t change it.”

  
“Well…being different isn’t necessarily always a bad thing.” Steve turned on his side and propped his head in his hand. “You and your family have been through more shit than anyone I’ve ever met, and I don’t see how it could _not_ affect you in some way. But you’re still the kindest, sweetest, strongest kid I’ve ever known. Nothing will ever change that.”

  
A small smile touched Will’s lips before leaving as fast as it came. “Thanks. That’s part of it, but that isn’t what I was talking about, really.”

  
“Oh?”

  
“Yeah, it’s just…tonight…watching everyone together…,” Will plucked at the tie to his robe. “Dustin and I used to feel left out because Mike was so focused on El and Lucas on Max, but…Dustin still kinda feels like that, but I – I don’t. At least, not in the same way. I don’t want a girlfriend.”

  
Steve placed an affectionate hand on the younger boy’s shoulder. “Hey, hey! There’s nothing wrong with you if you aren’t ready to date yet. You’ve been through a helluva a lot, and you’ve got plenty of time to figure it out. Take me for instance. I haven’t dated since before the cancer. There was so much more to focus on, and now I’m obviously not going to, but you don’t think that’s weird, do you?”

  
“No, but that’s not exactly what I meant, either,” Will appeared more dejected than before.

  
Steve knew he was failing the kid, but was lost on how to fix it. “Whatever it is, I can promise you that I’m here to listen - without judgment. Or advice, because according to Dustin, I apparently suck at it. But I will most definitely, _always_ be your friend no matter what, okay?”

  
That must have been exactly what Will needed to hear because he started to open up. “Robin was right. I’ve – I’ve never said it out loud before. To anyone. I’ve known for awhile, and I kinda – I think Robin guessed, but was smart enough not to say it outright because she knew I – I needed to do this on my own time.”

  
Will clearly wasn’t finished, and Steve barely breathed for fear of interrupting.

  
“I know I could’ve talked to her, but…I don’t know. It didn’t feel right, and I think she picked up on that. So, Robin – she told me a story about the first time she visited you in the hospital. You know, right after you got sick again and she just found out? She said how brave you were to let her see you when you were so vulnerable, and she wanted to be brave like you, too. She said you were the first person she ever told, and she was so glad she chose you because you were so, so cool about it and…how much you just accepted her, like, right away.” Will was so nervous he was shaking, and Steve gripped his hand to still it and help calm him. He vividly remembered that conversation. “Steve, I’m – I’m gay.”

  
Will was cringing as if he expected to be berated or tossed out, even though he knew Steve would never do either of those things. “Pfft. Is that all,” Steve smiled at him and pulled him into a tight hug. “You had me worried it was something _bad_.”

  
Will’s arms wrapped around Steve and he pressed into his side. He was crying a little from the sheer relief, but also laughing a little at Steve’s reaction which really wasn’t much of a reaction at all. _This_ is what Robin meant when she said it was a nonissue for Steve. He didn’t make a big deal out of it because it _wasn’t_ a big deal to him. Getting nearly the same positive reception as Robin had from one of the people who Will looked up to most was a wonderful feeling. “Thank you, Steve. Robin was right. I’m glad I chose you.”

  
“You don’t have to thank me for being a decent human being, Will. That’s how it works. Or, at least, it should.” Steve loosened his grip so he could look Will in the eyes. “Besides, I’m the one that should be thanking you. For trusting me enough to share that with me. And for everything you all did today. It was the best gift I’ve ever gotten.”

  
“Well, you just gave me a pretty awesome gift, too, so I guess we’re even.” Will nibbled on a chapped piece of skin on his lip. “But, can I ask one more favor?”

  
“Sure. Shoot.”

  
“Keep it to yourself for now? I know it – it probably will be okay, but I’m just – I’m not ready yet,” Will hurriedly explained. “You probably think that that’s silly. That I’m being a coward.”

  
“Hey, hey, none of that. Not at all,” Steve reassured him. “Don’t worry. I won’t blab, but for the record, your mom and Jonathan are two of the most loving and inclusive people on the planet. They took me in, didn’t they? But you get to decide when you’re ready. No one else. That doesn’t make you a coward at all! Like, the total opposite. What you did today was very brave! _I’m_ the coward. I haven’t even been able to face my own parents and tell them I’m, well...Like I’m ashamed or something. I know it doesn’t make any sense, but I get where you’re coming from.”

  
“Are you afraid of their reaction, too,” Will truthfully wondered.

  
“Not exactly.” Now it was Steve’s turn to be uncomfortable, but if Will could be honest with him, he owed him the same courtesy. “I’m more afraid of _no_ reaction. I’ve always known on some level that they’ve never really cared, but to have that _confirmed_ yet again…over something like this…that my death wouldn’t even phase them…it would be too much.”

  
“I’m sorry, Steve. I wish you didn’t have to deal with that on top of everything else.” Will offered what solace he could. “You still have us, though.”

  
“I know, buddy,” Steve ruffled his hair affectionately. “And you know what? If you can be brave like this, then maybe I can be, too.”

  
Steve awoke the next day with a new resolve and began tracking down his parents. He didn’t have to search too far. They’d be coming back into town for a couple days just before the New Year.

  
Two days later Steve found himself on the front stoop of his old home, poised to knock, but not quite yet bringing himself to. His dad’s luxury, but rarely driven car was parked in the driveway. Steve anxiously shifted his weight from foot to foot before inhaling deeply and finally pounding on the door.

  
It was a couple agonizing minutes before the door swung open. “Steven. What are you doing here?”

  
There was no emotion other than faint disdain. No ‘how are you, son’ or ‘come in, we’ve missed you’. Just a cold on the inside that matched the cold on the outside. Well, Steve could treat this like a business meeting, too if that’s the way he wanted to play this. Steve had other things to discuss with them besides his impending death. His affairs, as it were. His mother appeared waif-like in the foyer behind his father’s imposing figure, somehow appearing both curious and bored as to why her son had materialized on their doorstep.

  
They were both here and he needed to get this over with. It was now or never. “Mom? Dad? Can I come in? We need to talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally managed to write a part that was a wee bit shorter than the last. And hopefully, it's as lighthearted as it is angsty. I only touched a little on Steve's emotions in this part, and maybe it's a little uneven, but imo that's realistic. Originally, there was going to be more time covered in this chapter, but I spent so much time on Christmas, I had to split it into two parts. So...three more chapters to go roughly. I have another checkup under my belt, and although I did pick up another minor chemo-induced health problem, the cancer is stable. So, that's a relief heading into the holidays. In the likelihood that I won't get another part out before Christmas, I want to wish everyone a Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays for whatever you may celebrate! Stay well!


	20. Counting Down the Days To Go (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reality of Steve's prognosis closes in, and emotions run high for Steve and the rest of the group as they try to make sense of it all and be there for him however they can. As Steve navigates the dark days ahead that only seem to be getting darker, there are beacons of light within that darkness in the shape of six teenagers, two college students, an old coworker, a loving mother, and a burly Police Chief. This may not have been the ending to his story Steve would've wanted, but he still has more pages to write before it's over. And those pages hold a tale of friendship and family and unconditional love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year 2021! I hope everyone had a happy, healthy, and safe Holiday season! I know this part took a while to get out. The holidays are always a chaotic time. I'm so sorry for the wait, but it is rather long, so hopefully that makes up for the delay. We have not reached the end yet, but TW for discussion of topics that go along with a terminal illness and also its effects. There are also slight mentions of Lucas' feelings on some racial inequality he's experienced. And finally, I know the subject matter is tough and it's cost me some readers (or maybe it's my rusty writing and the fact that it's so long, I don't know). It's disappointing, but I understand this isn't for everyone. And this is the way I wanted to tell this story, regardless. That said, thank you to everyone who has stuck with me and to those just joining the story...Welcome! Comments and constructive criticism are definitely welcome! I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I love connecting with people, so the more comments, the better! As always, happy reading and stay safe!

The brushstrokes were intentionally visible where the bristles had dragged the bright watercolors across the canvas, curving them into picturesque symbols of support and awareness. A rainbow of ribbons hung from a sturdy tree rooted deep into the rich earth and whose branches reached up among a sea of abstract circular objects that supposedly illustrated cells. They just looked like free-floating blobs to Steve.

  
It was a painting meant to be representative of fighters and survivors alike to inspire hope, but instead the irony of it all just made Steve inexplicably angry. He didn’t fit into either category anymore, seeing as he was no longer a fighter _or_ a survivor. The orange ribbon in particular seemed to jump out of the frame and taunt him. Somewhere in this dismal place there was probably a painting lamenting those that had lost the fight and had gone long ago. He didn’t fall into that group yet, either, though he soon would. Adrift in that isolated space between two worlds, Steve felt as if he had been condemned to wander the plains of his own personal purgatory.

  
Steve scowled at the picture on the wall that he had no choice but to study as he labored to get somewhat comfortable while positioned on his side, but it was an impossible feat. The stiff white sheets scratched at his bruised and delicate skin. The flimsy pillow and thin rubber mattress were inadequate cushions for his increasingly distressed joints and the blazing intensity of the lights was giving him a headache. None of this was going to ultimately make a difference in the long run, and in that moment it all seemed so…pointless. And his back ached. _God,_ did his back ache something fierce from the invasive flow of the medicine.

  
Robin astutely observed the grimaces flashing across her friend’s face and could offer nothing of more substance than a meek inquisition as she relocated a strand of his bangs that had fallen into his eye with her finger. “Are you hurting, Steve?”

  
He cinched the pillow that he clutched tighter to his waist as he rode out a particularly nasty surge of fire in his back before gritting out, “No, Rob. Feels good to have a needle shoved into my spine and poison shot through it every week.”

  
The biting reply wasn’t taken to heart, nor did it deter Robin from her mission of being there for Steve in whatever way she could be. “Is there anything I can do for you? Get you?”

  
“Why does everyone assume I need them to get me something? Like anything would help. And I’m not a complete invalid yet, so unless it includes bringing me a whole new life, then no. Not really,” Steve snapped.

  
“Whatever, dude,” Robin shrugged, unphased by his irritability. “But I could use some water. How about you, Lucas?”

  
Lucas was sitting by the window at Steve’s head, and therefore out of his line of sight. He had completely forgotten that the high school was unexpectedly closed today due to a water line break, and for some unknown reason Lucas had wanted to tag along to presumably spend some time with him before hanging out with Will later this evening as Steve recovered from his session. Lucas had witnessed his moody mini-tantrum and Steve was suddenly very ashamed of himself as he listened to the door click shut. He covered his face with his hands and groaned, “I am _such_ an asshole.”

  
“No, you’re not, Steve,” Lucas disagreed, but the subject of the debate just let out another muffled noise of frustration. “Okay, maybe you were a little, but no one blames you for getting upset, man. You may be a hero, but you’re still _human,_ Steve. You still get to have _feelings_.”

  
“Wait, what?” Steve dropped his hands in surprise, not only at the title Lucas bestowed upon him, but the casual way it rolled off his tongue. It was as if he were vocalizing an indisputable fact of the same caliber of such statements as ‘the sky is blue’ or ‘fire is hot’.

  
“I said –,” Lucas began, but Steve cut him off.

  
“No, no, no. I heard you. I’m not - I just…I don’t get it. I’m not that guy at all. Why would you even say that?” Steve flicked his eyes to the ceiling, sighing, and shook his head in disbelief. “All this…this doesn’t automatically make me... _that._ It just makes me…sick. Another guy in line for the checkout counter. And a jerk, apparently. Trust me, I’m nobody’s hero.”

  
Lucas circled the bed Steve lay upon and sat down in the seat Robin had recently vacated. The expression he wore on his face was so wounded that Steve shrank underneath of it. “That’s so not true, man. You’re _mine_. You’ve _been_ mine. How can you not see that after all these years? And not just because, well…That’s such a small part of it. Don’t you realize that you’re the only person in this miserable town who has ever stood up for me?”

  
“C’mon. That can’t be true,” Steve doubted. “Dustin, Mike, Max, Will, El…they all have your back.”

  
“I know they do, but it’s not the same,” Lucas searched for the words to explain. “It’s not that they’re not willing to stand up for me, but they’re about as capable of fending off bullies as I am. And it’s not that Hopper or Mrs. Byers wouldn’t do something if they ever saw it, but people are real careful to be on their best behavior in front of the Chief, you know. And other people are a joke. They talk a big game, but when it comes down to it, they don’t _do_ anything. But you? You actually _did!"_

“I didn’t do anything that any decent person wouldn’t’ve done,” Steve dismissed, finally understanding what Lucas had been specifically referring to. Steve wasn’t trying to be difficult. He just didn’t see what all the fuss was, so he minimized the scope of his role, but Lucas wouldn’t let him.

  
“That’s kinda my point. Even the so-called ‘decent people’ look the other way. Like I said, you’d be surprised how many people are reluctant to get involved. Especially if it has to do with the color of my skin.” It wasn’t something he talked about very often but was just an unspoken fact, and Steve looked unbelievably sad at that revelation. Lucas loved him even more for that, if that were possible. “Billy’s always been a dick to Max, but that night, he came after me looking for blood. It didn’t matter if I was just a kid. He wasn’t going to stop until he got what he came for. And you swooped in like Superman, or some shit, and saved me. Without even giving it a second thought. If you hadn’t stepped in…And you got really banged up because of it.”

  
“Look, Lucas…I’d do it again if I had to. Even if I knew what would happen to me ahead of time, I still wouldn’t do anything differently. I still would’ve done it.” Steve’s movement was severely limited by the IV line in his spine, but he still managed to reach out a hand to place on his younger friend’s knee. “Maybe that makes me not a completely terrible person, but I am definitely _not_ Superman. Not even close. I lost that fight, remember?”

  
“You won in all the ways that matter. And dude? That’s all you think of yourself – not a terrible person? You never give yourself enough credit. Steve, you’re a _great_ person! And as far as being Superman? Like I said, you are to me.” Growing thoughtful, Lucas rested his chin in his hand and stroked at it with his index finger. “But I guess that’s pretty common with heroes. They don’t really _know_ they are. Helping people and doing the right thing are just natural instincts. You know that describes you pretty accurately, right?”

  
“Wow…okay. Thanks. That’s really…flattering. I mean, I still don’t see it, but you’re smarter than me, so…,” Steve gave him a small, tentative smile. It had been a long road to accepting that he wasn’t a total imposter among this patched together family, but eventually, with a lot of love and patience, he began to trust that he belonged as part of their group as much as they insisted he did. But Steve would never in a million years hold himself in as high esteem as Lucas apparently did. He had far too many imperfections and shortcomings to achieve that status in his own mind.

  
As if sensing Steve’s lingering doubts, Lucas pressed on, not quite finished yet. “And another thing they all have in common? Every superhero has an alter ego. A human side that has flaws and weaknesses and feelings. See, even Superman has to be Clark Kent now and then. What I’m saying is, it’s _okay_ for you to be sad or upset or mad about everything. Steve…it’s _okay_ for you to be Clark Kent sometimes. It doesn’t make you any less Superman.”

  
“Maybe so…but it still doesn’t give me the right to treat someone like crap just because they’re trying to help,” Steve continued to beat himself up over something that was relatively minor in the grand scheme of things.

  
“You’re making a bigger deal out of it than it really was. Robin’s probably not even thinking about it anymore. And even if she is, I’m sure she understands and forgives you,” Lucas assured him.

  
“She definitely does,” Robin said softly as she reentered the room holding a pitcher and some plastic cups and straws that she set down on the bedside table. “The only thing she’s wondering is if it’s just all the obvious or something more specific.”

  
“All the above,” Steve confessed, motioning for her to come to the bedside and sit down beside him. “It’s the obvious, something specific, and everything in between.”

  
“Oh?” Robin allowed her hand to be encased in Steve’s, but said nothing more in hopes that he would expound on his statement.

  
“You were right. I’m – I’m in a lot of pain. I always am now. It’s been getting pretty bad lately and nothing really helps anymore. I don’t – I don’t know if it’s the treatment or the cancer – the cancer’s getting…worse.” Steve kept his eyes downcast. He never had an easy time when it came disclosing what was really bothering him, whether the cause be physical or emotional. “The whole situation with my parents is still messed up, as usual. And Hopper…well, he pretty much told me the other day that he didn’t know if it was such a good idea to come back to work, but the thing is…I sorta want to? I know it doesn’t make sense with everything else going on, but I was getting kinda good at it, and it’d be nice to have something else to focus on. I mean, I know there’ll come a time when I can’t – soon -, but still…I don’t think – I don’t think I’m ready to give it up yet?”

  
The lump formed in Robin’s throat despite her best efforts to reign in her emotions. Steve was going to lose the life he had built and his independence bit by agonizing bit as he physically deteriorated, but he was struggling to hold onto whatever he could while he still could. They all knew it, but to hear him acknowledge it was absolutely heart-breaking. “Then don’t. Don’t give him a choice. Just show up and start working.”

  
It was risky but sound advice that Steve heeded. He arrived at the station a couple mornings later to find the place in chaotic shambles. The phones were ringing off the hook. Flo and Powell were nowhere to be found, and Callahan had placed himself bodily between two men to prevent them from literally going at each other’s throats. Hopper was outside his office door, one hand braced on the frame and the other rubbing his temples at what was probably a pounding headache and yelling at everybody to _shut the hell up!_

  
Steve took it upon himself to go over and answer the phone. “Hawkins Police Department.”

  
The sudden, sharp reduction in the noise level drew Hopper’s attention over to Steve’s desk, and he fumed at his appearance. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”

  
Steve finished jotting down the caller’s information before hanging up and addressing Hopper. “Working. What does it look like I’m doing?”

  
“Kid, you’re not supposed to be here.” Hopper stomped over and wrapped a palm around his bicep firmly, but not hard enough to do any real harm. “My office. Now!”

  
Hopper slammed the door and anxiously paced back and forth, repeating his sentiment from only moments earlier. “You shouldn’t _be here_. You’re d-…not well. Your condition…”

  
“…won’t change whether I’m here or at home,” Steve rationalized. “And no offense, but it looks like you could use some help right now.”

  
“I don’t care how short-staffed we are because half the office, including Flo, is out with the flu. That just adds to the list of reasons you shouldn’t set foot in this place. You, of all people, can’t afford to catch it.” Hopper took a seat behind his desk and began filling out paperwork. As far as he was concerned, the discussion was closed.

  
Although the policeman clearly wasn’t budging on the matter, Steve wasn’t about to let it go that easily, either. He could be stubborn too. “I could still catch the flu at home. You could bring it home from here. Or Joyce from Melvald’s or the kids from school. Or I could get it from the hospital which is full of sick people.” Steve bit his lip and swiveled his head towards the wall to disguise his sudden wave of emotion. He hadn’t divulged his whole list of reasons for needing to be here to Robin. He held onto some of the more personal ones, but they hit him full force in that moment.

  
“Here is the one place that I – that I get to remember what it’s like to be sorta normal again and not just ‘sick Steve’. I know that’s what I am, but…,” The clumsiness of Steve's words clogged up his throat as he strained to express himself. “Don’t make me - I don’t want to spend whatever time I have left just staring at the walls, sitting at home doing nothing except waiting to die. _Please_ , Hop.”

  
The desperation in Steve’s tone made Hopper pause for several beats before replying. “I still don’t think it’s a good idea. I’m sorry, Steve.”

  
“Look, I know it’d only be for a little while longer. I _know_ that. I do,” Steve’s voice petered out to just above a whisper. His jaw worked against itself as an internal battle raged on. Steve kept his gaze trained on the tattered calendar tacked to the wall, gathering up the courage to articulate one of his deepest fears. “Up until a few years ago, I was used to being on my own. Talked myself into being fine with it, even. But things are different now. _I’m_ different. I can’t – I can’t go back to that. I’m pretty sure _it_ isn’t going to happen any time really soon, but I don’t want to be by myself when it does. I’m scared to be alone, Hop.”

  
The brutally candid and heartbreaking confession brought Hopper to his metaphorical knees. He had been so consumed with anticipating the potential physical ramifications that they would have to field in the ruthlessly dire days to come, that other less perceptible concerns had been inadvertently ignored in these recent weeks. Of course, Steve was terrified. Hopper wanted to kick himself in the ass for being insensitive enough to neglect such an important factor as Steve’s mental state.

  
It was a mistake he could rectify, however. And he could start by granting Steve his request and alleviating some of his psychological distress – with certain familiar stipulations. Hopper held up two fingers. “Two days a week. _Half days_ only. Same rules. You’re sick, you stay home. You don’t feel good, you stay home. No hiding anything. And Steve? When it gets to be too much for you, I need you to be honest with me – and yourself.”

  
Steve released a shaky breath he had been keeping in. “Okay. Deal.”

  
Hopper pushed himself away from the desk and slowly approached Steve, resting a hand against the base of the boy’s neck. “Something else I want you to promise me? If something’s bothering you, no matter how small or insignificant you think it is, talk to me. Talk to _someone_. I didn’t get it before, kid, but I do now. I do now, and I swear to you we’ll figure something out so you aren’t by yourself anymore. Whatever it takes. We can start by you staying here and getting a couple hours in before school lets out. Sound good?”

  
Steve latched onto Hopper’s forearm. “Yeah. Yeah thanks, Hop.”

  
While Steve resumed his post at his desk, Hopper put aside the reports he had been reviewing and began drawing up a schedule. He would have to work with Joyce and Robin to insure one of them was with Steve on the days he wasn’t here in the office. Until his health markedly declined to that pivotal point of no return, the kids could fill in the gaps for a couple hours after school here and there, too.

  
That arrangement had the added benefit of easing all of their minds, knowing that Steve would have someone nearby at all times to care for him in the instances he was unable to do it himself, or even just required a little extra assistance if he was having a bad day.

  
There was a degree of pain Steve had grown accustomed to and learned to live with over the course of his battle. Some part of his body just always ached or throbbed or burned. But by mid-February it was reaching an unendurable level. Steve started suffering from what could only be described as ‘attacks’ that left him curled up and breathless, begging for mercy. Unfortunately, his initial introduction to this new version of an all too familiar Hell hit him on an afternoon when it was just himself and Max at home.

  
Will was at Dustin’s working on a project – the same one Max was currently working on without her partner because they had gotten into a ‘marital spat’ over the fake budget they were assigned to draft for their ersatz family in Economics. She and Lucas couldn’t agree on anything. “This is stupid! I want a fake divorce!”

  
Steve wobbled unsteadily back from the kitchen, gripping two mugs. The hot chocolate rippled in the ceramic receptacles due to the tremors coursing through his hands. “C’mon. You know you don’t mean that. You and Lucas usually work so well with each other.”

  
“Yeah, well…we’re both too young for this shit! I know we’ll use it eventually, but I’d like to get through the next year of high school and college first before I settle down.” Max threw her pencil onto her notebook in frustration.

  
“Well, at least you’re smarter about it than I was. And better at school, in general. I was honestly pretty dumb on both accounts.” Steve set the mugs onto the coffee table next to Max’s schoolwork and used both his now-free hands to lower himself slowly onto the couch next to her feet. The yelp escaped before he could clamp his lips together and contain it.

  
“I wish you wouldn’t constantly put yourself down like that.” Max had much more to say on the issue, but Steve’s discomfort took precedence. “What’s the matter? Is it your back again?”

  
Inhaling and exhaling measured breaths, Steve clenched his eyes shut and steepled his fingers together, gasping out an, “Mm-hm.”

  
Max maneuvered herself around the edge of the table and squeezed his wrist supportively with her light touch. “I’m gonna go get your medicine and maybe something else to help.”

  
In the few minutes she was gone, Steve hadn’t moved a muscle. Max rushed back to his side and coaxed the pill into him with a glass of water. She then guided him to put his feet up and lay down, stuffing a cloth-covered rectangular object behind his back. “Have you ever tried a heating pad?”

  
When she received a negative response, Max plugged in the item and switched it on. “Well, it’s worth a try at least.” Distraction was a technique that Steve often implored them to employ, so Max resumed the conversation. “What about you? Did you have to do this assignment too?”

  
“Theoretically. Although, I think the girl that I was paired up with did most of the work. Ironically, she didn’t trust the ‘spoiled rich kid’ to have any concept of money or a budget. Like my parents didn’t just throw money at me and leave me to fend for myself for weeks at a time.” Steve’s voice was high and tight, not only with the physical hurt, but that of the memory and all it dredged up. “Still shoulda paid more attention, though. Useful information. I really thought I was gonna get married at your age. Planned on it, even. Maybe right outta high school.”

  
“Really? To who,” Max asked, incredibly interested at possibly getting a glimpse at some previously unknown facet of her friend until Steve just arched his eyebrows at her in a disbelieving look and it dawned on her. How could she be so stupid? “Oh. Sorry.”

  
“Don’t be. We weren’t good for each other and Jonathan…is.” Steve shifted in an effort to find a position that reduced the pressure on his most sensitive nerve-endings, to no avail. “’Sides, if we _had_ gotten married right out of high school, I’d have made her a widow probably before she even graduated college. I mean, can you imagine? This way’s better for everyone.”

  
“No, it’s not,” Max objected sorrowfully. “Definitely not for you. You should get to have a life and be happy, too.”

  
“I am happy, Max.” Steve directed a smile at her that was so unconvincing that even he realized how plastic it came off. “But I was barely older than you are now when I came to that conclusion. What did I know? But enough about me and my depressing lack of a love life. How about you? Have you thought about it at all? You sound like you know what you want, but if Lucas is trying to pressure you into something you’re not ready for…”

  
“Geez, _relax Mom_ ,” Max giggled at how, even flat on his back and intermittently squirming from his lack of comfort, Steve still came off as more parental than most of their parents, including her own. Steve looked at her expectantly, but still she paused before answering.

  
The Party largely avoided discussing the subject of the distant future around Steve, almost treating it as if it were taboo. They feared that such a topic would come across as inconsiderate at best, or at worst, completely callous and unsympathetic to his condition. But maybe it was something he _needed_ to talk about. Maybe by withholding their hopes and aspirations, they were unintentionally locking him out of a significant chunk of themselves that he had more than a small hand in influencing and doing him even more harm by not allowing him to see that.

  
Max took a deep breath before she began. “Whether it’s to Lucas – or not – I want to graduate college first. But sure, I’ve thought about it in the abstract. Like what kind of dress I’ll wear. The flowers. Cake. That kinda stuff. But it’s not like I’m rushing to meet a specific timeline, or anything.”

  
“Yeah?” When Max nodded, Steve reached over to lightly pat her hand. Even such a tiny movement elicited a grunt from the back of his throat before he could sufficiently cover it up. “Good. Smart girl. No matter who you marry, or when, I bet you’ll make a beautiful bride one day. El too. I wish I could be there to see it.”

  
“Me too, Steve. More than you know.” Max again hesitated briefly before sliding her hand into Steve’s that was once more loosely flopped on top of the cushion. It caused her considerable sadness to not only acknowledge the fact that he wouldn’t be there for such a huge event in her life – and all the ones that came after - to herself, but to hear him speak of it so wistfully, as well.

  
The faraway gaze tinged with longing, and possibly a bit of pride, flickered to life in Steve’s large eyes until Max’s heart swelled with emotion and she could bear it no longer. The wish she had kept secretly tucked away inside and had never shared with anyone was something she decided that Steve deserved to hear, now more than ever. To let him know just how included and vital of a role she had intended on him playing in her big day. “So, you know my dad? My real one in California? Even after my parents’ divorce, when I dreamt about my wedding, I still saw him as a big part of it. I mean, usually, a girl has her dad walk her down the aisle, right? I used to want that when I was little. Even after we first moved here, I thought I wanted that, but not anymore. I can barely get him to return a phone call now.”

  
Steve gave her hand a compassionate squeeze, misconstruing that her descent into melancholy was a result of a pining for a parental relationship that had been severed without her consent. It was something he could completely sympathize with.

  
“He’s not a _bad_ guy. Just not very dependable, and as I’ve gotten older, I sorta understand why my parents divorced. And Neil’s dead. Thank God! But, like I would have ever asked him anyway,” Max scoffed.

  
“What about Billy,” Steve softly suggested. “You guys are on better terms, right?”

  
“I suppose, but no guarantees it’ll stay that way. That wouldn’t be who I would pick, anyway. It should be someone that really knows me deep down. Knows who I really am. Someone that I’m actually close to and has been there for me in all the ways that matter and that I know has my best interests at heart – always.” Max grew exponentially shyer the more she went on and found it hard to look directly at Steve.

  
“I want it to be a guy that I respect and admire and is as important to me as I am to him. And a good role model. The kind of man I hope my husband would be one day and if I had any sons, they’d grow up to be just like him, too. Look, I know it’s a symbolic gesture that may seem a little outdated, but it’s a tradition and it’s still kinda a big deal to me…And there’s only one man that I’ve ever met in my entire life that checks all those boxes and I’d even _think_ about letting ‘give me away’. Only one man I’d _want_ to.” Max traced the pattern on the faded couch with her finger before nervously clearing her throat.

  
Steve held onto her hand and gently swayed it back and forth as he grinned fondly at her. “Well, whoever this guy is sounds _awesome!_ He would be a fool not to make this happen for you.”

  
“The thing is, he can’t. But it’s not his fault.” Max’s face fell drastically from a dreamy gaze to one of despair, and Steve chided himself for putting his foot in his mouth somehow and unwittingly upsetting her. She seemed to recover briefly before reverting back to her previous downhearted state. “You remember the night after the Homecoming Dance? When you danced with me and El? It was so perfect and felt so natural and _safe_ and just so… _right_. That’s when it hit me. I know it can never happen, but I thought you should know… _deserve_ to know…It’s _you_ , Steve. _You’re_ that man. That’s how special you are. How much you mean to me.”

  
Steve would be lying if he said that he didn’t instantly choke up at the concept that he was even a fraction as significant to Max and the others’ lives as they were to his. It was overwhelming and wonderful and heartbreaking all at once to know how much of an integral and constant role in her future Max had envisioned Steve playing. He couldn’t really move from his spot, but he tugged the younger girl closer. “Oh, Max. You guys all mean more to me than you could ever know. And it would have been the biggest honor, probably of my whole life, to do that for you. I hope you know that. And I’m so, so sorry I won’t be able to…that I won’t be there.”

  
“I know, Steve. Me too. But it’s not like you were given a choice about any of this. And who knows? Maybe you will be there in some way.” Max sniffled and leaned over to wrap her limbs around Steve’s torso, but as soon as her arms met around his middle, he grew rigid and his backed arched violently away from her touch and the cushions. “What? What? Oh my God, did I hurt you?”

  
Steve tried to forcefully protest that she had nothing to do with it and he had been on a collision course with something of this magnitude clawing its way slowly out of him for a long time now, but all he could manage was a feeble shake of his head as the bolts of lightning struck him and lit up his entire skeleton with electricity all at once. There was nowhere to move away from it. It encompassed his whole being and swallowed every fiber of him. Steve’s breath exited in fast, short pants.

  
“Okay. Okay. Is there any other pain medicine I can get you?” Steve gave a curt jerk of his head. “Damn. Anything else in the house that will help?” Another shake.

  
“How about this? Try to copy me.” Max knelt down beside him on the floor, threading her fingers through the brunette locks while leading him through breathing exercises that he failed to execute, unable to concentrate on a task even that basic while his bones were being pulverized and turned to dust under an invisible vice. She yanked the corner of the blanket up and dabbed at the perspiration collecting on his forehead. The faint whimpers dying in his throat sent Max into panic mode. “I don’t – I don’t know what to do. Steve? Steve, can you tell me where it hurts?”

  
Steve used every bit of energy he possessed to push out a response from his chest. “Evr’ywhere.” Verbalizing that one word was the equivalent of turning on a faucet. The grunts and gasps and awful sounds Steve was producing could no longer be restrained and were unleashed full force.

  
“I’m gonna go – go call -,” Max made a move to dash towards the phone on the wall before she could even finish her sentence.

  
A primal shriek was suddenly torn from his lungs. It fell off in pitch, transforming into a choked off sob as Steve thrust his hand out blindly, frantically grasping mid-air and reaching out desperately for her. “Maxie!”

  
Max was instantaneously back at his side hearing the seldom used moniker. It was a nickname Steve almost never called her except on the rare occasions when she was bordering on inconsolable and he invoked every trick in the book to calm her down. Now the roles were alarmingly reversed. She caught his hand mid-flail. Steve’s wide and frightened eyes shone with unshed tears, but they were dulled by his inability to focus on any one thing through the haze of his blinding pain. “I’m here. Steve? I’m here, but I need to get help, okay? I promise I’ll be right back.”

  
Her fingers missed the intended mark more than a few times as she punched in the numbers to summon Mrs. Byers from work. Max raced back to Steve’s side and tried her best to be there for him like he had been there for all of them at one time or another. She brushed away the fat droplets of moisture now involuntarily rolling out of the corners of his unblinking eyes clumsily with her sleeve and resumed stroking his hair. Her meager methods of soothing him were proving grossly inadequate.

  
Steve’s face contorted in agony and his sobs amplified in both frequency and intensity. All Max could do was hold his hand and let her sobs fall into sync with his while they waited for someone who was more equipped to handle Steve’s needs than the helpless and incompetent child she perceived herself to be in that moment.

  
Hopper’s tires screeched to a stop in the Byers’ driveway. He didn’t bother to flip off the sirens or close the car door as he sprinted to the front porch, not knowing anything except Joyce had said there was an emergency with Steve at home and to meet her there.

  
Loud cries greeted his ears as soon as he reached the threshold. And, God help him, it was almost a _relief_ to hear those cries because they meant Steve was still awake and still with them. Hopper was prepared to kick the door in, but it fell open as soon as he twisted the knob. “Max, what’s happening? Max? Max!”

  
The policeman’s bark startled Max and she floundered out the words. “I – I – I don’t know. He’s been in pain all afternoon, and I gave him some medicine, but it wasn’t – it wasn’t w-w-working. He said it hurt everywhere and then it got – it got…like this.”

  
“You did the right thing calling.” Hopper let his hand skim her shoulder on his way towards the sofa. He bent over and passed a gentle hand over Steve’s clammy forehead, dropping his gruff tone to one much quieter and kinder. “Hey, kid. Red here says you’ve been in a world of hurt. I can see that. We’re going to make it better, alright? Don’t think you got a fever, but I need to know if anything else is going on.”

  
“N-n-no.” That one stuttered and broken word preceded another crushing wave of agony that sent Steve's chest heaving and left him practically hyperventilating. “Ho-opp,” Steve howled out as he writhed around, the noise devolving into something closer in approximation to a scream.

  
Steve suddenly erupted into a series of bone-rattling shivers that had absolutely nothing to do with the cold temperature outside. His body was likely trying to process all the adrenaline flooding his system from the overwhelming pain and was on the verge of going into a shock-like state or passing out entirely.

  
Hopper didn’t bother with Steve’s winter jacket. He scooped Steve up, along with the oxygen tank that was his constant companion, and bundled him in as many blankets that he could grab that were within easy reach. “You stay here, Red and let the others know I’m taking Steve to the hospital.”

  
Joyce’s compact car sputtered to a stop right next to Hopper’s cruiser as he came flying down the steps with Steve huddled to his chest. “Joyce! Back! Now,” he commanded without explanation, waiting impatiently until she had positioned herself in the backseat to place Steve as gingerly as he could into her arms.

  
There didn’t seem to be a spot on Steve’s body that Joyce could hold onto that wasn’t causing him absolute torture, but she had to prevent him from being jostled around during the rough ride too much. She just pressed her lips to his damp hair over and over, whispering, “It’s gonna be okay, sweetie. We’re going to get you some relief soon. Just hold on, sweetheart.”

  
The abject wails blended in with the pitch of the sirens. Even after the car had disappeared behind the tree line, and the small house became comparatively silent, Max could swear she could still hear the police car and the echoes of Steve’s misery. She stayed with her hand pressed to the screen door until the phone rang shrilly and pulled her out of her head.

  
Steve was kept in the hospital for two days while the oncologist and other teams of doctors worked to successfully bring his pain under control. Dosages were increased and another medication was added to the regimen. Steve was sent home with a prescription for morphine that the hospital pharmacy filled and a box of syringes and alcohol swabs to go along with it.

  
The nurses had patiently taught Hopper, Joyce, and Steve the necessary steps to draw up and deliver the medicine, although Steve’s gradually diminishing fine motor skills made it somewhat more difficult to perform the task himself. Therefore, Joyce knew that she would be the most likely of the trio to be the person administering the medicine and took to practicing on an orange as had been suggested.

  
The orange – which the kids had dubbed Steve’s orange – bore the magic marker emblazoned message of ‘do not eat’. As if anyone was going to touch the piece of fruit that became progressively lumpier and more bloated from the repetitive saline injections as the week went on.

  
Max had thrown him more than a few furtive, nervous glances in the days following his latest hospital stay which Steve was not oblivious to the reasons for. He took her aside and apologized profusely for scaring her. The younger girl quickly shut him down, not permitting him to take the blame over something he couldn’t control. “You’re not allowed to be sorry. Not about this, okay? You were probably terrified, too.”

  
The maturity level of these kids, who were creeping ever closer to the precipice of adulthood, always surprised him, although it shouldn’t anymore. Sometimes, Steve thought that he might be partially responsible for their accelerated development to some extent, a result of having to witness and contend with the ups and downs of an illness that was, quite frankly, more than even the adults could cope with on the worst days. Steve wound his arms around her and murmured truthfully, “Petrified.”

  
That wasn’t the only solemn conversation Steve needed to engage in once he returned home. Reluctantly, Steve approached Hopper and, per their agreement, disclosed that he was more than a little dubious that he could continue to fulfill his duties at the station for much longer. It wasn’t just the most recent episode that had spurred the decision. Fatigue seemed to be waiting for him around every corner, and it was a little harder to draw a deep breath now. Steve’s fingers fumbled with simple things and he couldn’t tolerate standing for any prolonged period of time.

  
Hopper appeared immensely saddened and heartbroken by Steve’s revelation, but had been expecting it. The embrace that Hopper cradled him in was so damn _paternal_ that Steve wanted to cry. Steve had just told the man of his diminishing capabilities to perform even the most simplistic duties and therefore rendering him unable to work alongside him anymore, and instead of being chastised for not living up to certain unrealistic expectations arbitrarily set forth by the adults in his life, he was being _comforted_ and _supported_.

  
Steve had barely been able to work more than an additional month before he had had to walk away, thus ending his illustrious career in law enforcement. It wasn’t the first goodbye he had experienced, and it would be far from the last. It was just another thing in a long line of others he would have to let go of. It didn’t make it any less disappointing, though.

  
The kids picked up on his dipping mood – Dustin especially, who with renewed vigor, insisted that they start chipping away at Steve’s bucket list. The only problem was that Steve didn’t really have one, but he didn’t have the heart to tell any of them that. It wasn’t any material acquisitions or empty goals to check off a set of preordained boxes that he was interested in, but the less tangible and elusive constructs that marked the difference between merely being alive and having a _life_.

  
Steve had long since abandoned the dream of getting married and having kids, fully aware the former couldn’t be accomplished within his truncated lifespan - for a variety of reasons - and the latter equally unattainable as an irrevocable consequence of his treatments. That only left one true desire on his short list. Steve had been sincere when he had told the kids that they had already given him that gift and collectively helped him achieve what he had searched for his whole life. Nothing else mattered that much to him – except his family.

  
Trying to fulfill any of Steve’s wishes, however trivial, was obviously important to his friends, so he began conjuring up easy and relatively small things they could do, both for and with him, that would make them happy. It gave the kids a sense of purpose to cater to his fabricated whims, distracting them from the sense of absolute powerlessness that resided just underneath the surface at witnessing his continued deterioration.

  
Steve suggested things like planning a picnic when the weather was more cooperative, spending an afternoon at the arcade and afterwards stuffing their faces with all the foods that were incredibly bad for them, going to the movies, letting them teach him Dungeons and Dragons, and sitting him down and showing him the Star Wars trilogy or whatever else the group was passionate about. The activities were ultimately irrelevant to him. What really counted was that they would be doing whatever it was together while Steve was still physically able to and capable of showing them just how deep his affection for them went. With each withdraw from his account of stored-up tomorrows, he was getting closer and closer to losing that opportunity.

  
The kids weren’t entirely naïve and could see through the flimsy charade, although they kept up the pretense for Steve’s sake as well as their own. Pursuing a fictitious list was preferable to confronting the reality of the grim fate awaiting their friend, hovering just out of sight and around the next corner.

  
Dustin was adamant that they get started on their quest as soon as possible because the calendar had already flipped the page to March, and time was of the essence. It wasn’t very difficult to pick a day to begin. The entire group crashed at Will’s house over the weekends anyway, so that following Saturday would give them a full day to do whatever they chose.

  
The arcade was first on their agenda, and the kids sprawled out on Will’s bedroom floor guessing which games they might convince Steve to play and which one he might be best at. One by one they dropped off in the middle of their ruminations until they were all snoring softly.

  
Dustin startled awake suddenly, in the same manner he would jolt up right before he hit the ground in a falling nightmare that seemed to plague everyone at one time or another. The teen listened intently, but no abnormal sounds came drifting back. Dustin decided that it was probably a dream, after all, even though he didn’t remember it and shuffled around in his sleeping bag to go back to sleep.

  
There was a solid ‘thud’ that Dustin felt vibrate through the floorboards more than he actually heard it. It must have been what had woken him up in the first place. None of the other kids had stirred, but twice was too much of a coincidence and he was going to check it out.

  
Steve was down on all fours in his bathroom, wrapped syringes strewn across the tile next to the box of medication vials. A bead of perspiration balanced on the tip of his nose before cascading to the ceramic below. Shudders racked his body, robbing his fingers of the dexterity required to grip the ends of the package and peel them apart. Grunts and quiet groans escaped the older boy’s throat, partially in frustration and partially from the assault on his nerve endings.

  
Dustin wordlessly slipped the object from between Steve’s palsied fingers and picked up a vial to read the label. It was a simple one to one ratio. “How many milligrams, Steve?”

  
Steve stuck two fingers in the air, and after a moment’s deliberation, pushed a third one up beside the other two. Dustin had made it a point to watch Mrs. Byers as she practiced on the orange so he would know what to do. It wasn’t a question of _if_ , but _when_. Dustin could technically wake her now, but he knew Steve would rather let her sleep and it would only serve to further delay Steve’s much needed relief. So, Dustin copied the motions he had observed. He expertly pulled the plunger back to the number three, and inserted the needle into the vial, pushing the air into it before drawing up the medication.

  
“It goes in the muscle, right? Just straight into it?” Steve nodded without raising his head, leaning on one hand while he made flicking motions with the other, trying to convey his meaning nonverbally. Steve was too consumed with the engulfing agony to form actual syllables beyond the low whimpers he unconsciously produced.

  
Dustin had never needed words to understand Steve before, and this time was no different. He urgently tapped his fingers against the plastic to eliminate the bubbles. Dustin drug an alcohol swab across his friend’s sinewy bicep and let the needle pierce his skin, steadily pushing in the clear fluid.

  
After Dustin had disposed of the used instruments, he attempted to get Steve off the floor. Steve refused to budge, so Dustin propped his back against the cabinets and eased his friend into a position where he was resting against Dustin. The younger boy slid his arm around the older boy and guided his head to lay on his shoulder. The sustained rapid and shallow breaths that tickled Dustin’s curls were a bit concerning, but most likely directly correlating with the amount of distress Steve was experiencing in that moment. Dustin did his best to quell it. “Shh…it’s going to be okay, Steve. I know it’s hard, but try to relax and let the pain medicine work.”

  
Steve didn’t respond other than balling up the loose material of Dustin’s t-shirt in his fist as he rode out another surge, muffling another cry in the crook of the teenager’s neck. Steve may as well have been squeezing Dustin’s heart between his fingers with the pangs suddenly seizing the center of the younger boy’s chest. All Dustin could do for Steve was alternate between petting his hair and rubbing a hand up and down his back in a poor attempt at comfort while waiting for the pain medicine to take effect. Dustin continued murmuring reassurances to him over and over. “I’m here, buddy. I’m not going anywhere.”

  
At one point, the duo must have drifted off because that’s how Mike found them, the pale, washed-out light of pre-dawn shrouding the scene in a sickly gray. The bathroom was absolutely trashed. “What the hell?”

  
Dustin awoke first and shoved an annoyed finger against his lips, then pointed at Steve in warning against waking him. Too late. The shifting brought the older boy back to consciousness. Steve squinted and grimaced. “Good going, Mike. Thanks a lot,” Dustin chastised.

  
“What – what happened? Is he – is he okay,” Mike stuttered out worriedly.

  
Dustin appraised him with a look as if to say, _‘Are you for real?’_ and ignoring him otherwise, turned to Steve. “Are you feeling well enough to go back to your bed?” Steve paused and gave him a faint, barely there nod and attempted to stand on his own unsuccessfully. Dustin hooked an arm around his waist and snarled at the other boy, “How about stop gawking at him and giving us a little help here?”

  
That was all it took to unfreeze Mike from his spot. Together with Dustin, he was able to aid Steve in staggering back to his bedroom. Mike waited in the doorway while Dustin settled Steve into the bed and made sure he fell back to sleep before brushing back past the other boy into the bathroom to clean up the mess.

  
Dustin snatched the discarded and unopened syringes from the floor angrily. He struggled to calm himself. It wasn’t Mike he was mad at anymore, but the whole shitty situation. “This is exactly what Max was trying to tell us before. It’s gotten really bad. But you wanna hear the really messed up part? It’s only gonna get worse. So much worse. And for what? There’s no sense to any of this!”

  
Mike joined him on the floor, scooping up the stray items and dropping them back into the box. “You’re right. There’s not. But there’s no getting around it, either. We’re just going to have to help him through it whatever it takes. I mean, I’m pretty crap at it, but you? You’re _great_ at it!”

  
“No, I’m not. Not even close,” Dustin protested wearily. “I mean, look at him, Mike. This is what the rest of his life has in store for him. Shit piled on top of more shit. It’s not going to ever get better. _He’s_ not going to get better. I can’t save him. None of us can. I know that. But he’s _suffering_. He hurts _so bad_ now. And no matter what I do, I can’t fix that for him, either. I can’t even make him _feel_ better.”

  
“But you do, Dustin. You _do_. Like tonight. It was _you_ that took care of him. _You_ he fell asleep on. Somehow, you seem to know exactly what Steve needs without him even saying it. And Steve knows it, too. Of all us kids, it’s _you_ he trusts the most. _You_ he turns to first. _You_ that he lets his guard down around more than anyone with things like this. You guys just seem to… _get_ each other.”

  
Mike was uncertain if anything he said was getting through. Dustin’s breaths grew heavier and heavier until it became evident that he was crying, and Mike offered the only other solace he knew how. “I think you help him a whole lot more than you realize. Everyone can see how much you care about Steve. Including Steve. I’m sorry you’re losing your best friend. Your brother.”

  
“Yeah, well,” Dustin swiped briskly at his cheeks. “I’m not the only one. You’re losing him, too. We all are.”

  
“Yeah,” Mike agreed quietly.

  
Later that morning Steve emerged from his bedroom without a hint of the distress he had been in overnight. The only acknowledgement to the night before were the brief squeezes he gave to Mike’s and Dustin’s shoulders before addressing the group. “So, what time are we leaving?”

  
Dustin tugged Steve aside by the sleeve of his sweater. “You don’t have to do this, Steve. After last night…We all will understand if you can’t. I know you’re doing this for us, but maybe you shouldn’t. Maybe you should conserve your energy.”

  
“What exactly am I conserving it for?” Steve didn’t intend for that innocent question to evoke such sympathy, but Dustin’s eyes were so full of compassion that he had to briefly look away. “Look, Dusty…I’m -I’m doing this for me too, okay? But maybe – maybe you should drive,” Steve conceded to his crossed arms.

  
“Alright,” Dustin relented and agreed before sighing and letting his palm come to rest on Steve’s forearm to reduce the sting of what he was about to propose. “Maybe – maybe we should bring your wheelchair, too. Leave it in the car or something. You know, just in case. It’s – it’s a lot of standing and that way you’d have somewhere to sit if you need to.”

  
Steve deliberated, scratching the nape of his neck. He eventually capitulated, recognizing that not only was Dustin’s suggestion reasonable, but there was a high probability the cursed contraption would be liberated from the trunk before the afternoon was through – and it was.

  
The next weekend, Steve managed to negotiate the corridor of the mall leading to the movie theatre on his feet, but his strength was waning in infinitesimal amounts with each passing day. Very soon, something as simple as walking half the length of a football field would be an insurmountable undertaking. As it was, Steve nearly collapsed into the folded-up plush seat.

  
Excitement thrummed through The Party as the previews commenced and Steve let himself be carried away by their enthusiasm. Mike especially was wound-up from the trailer for the new Ghostbusters movie that was to be released in the Summer. When the younger boy turned to him, Steve felt his heart sink, expecting to be asked to bring them back to see it. It was a promise that would be impossible to fulfill. But instead, much to Steve’s immense relief, Mike only shyly requested, “You never made it all the way through the first one. We all fell asleep. Could you maybe – would you watch it with us over Spring Break?”

  
“Of course,” Steve tussled Mike’s hair with a hand that normally would have been irritably shrugged off by the recipient if not for the person attached to it.

  
Both Jonathan and Nancy had made it home for break, but were out with each other for the evening. Hopper and Joyce were working late, so it was just Steve and the kids for their movie fest. Halfway through Mike’s first pick, Steve had to admit it was the most enjoyable and humorous one he’d been made to sit through.

  
Even when it should’ve gotten obnoxious as the kids recited the lines along with the actors, Steve found his laughter coming easily and uninhibited. It was the freest and lightest he had felt in longer than he could recall. There was no cancer to weigh them down or death looming above their heads. It was just a group of friends punch-drunk on their own silliness until they were gasping for air in amusement and trying to one-up each other’s antics. If a feeling could be bottled or a moment frozen in time, Steve swore this would have been it for him. But like everything good and precious in the world, it was fleeting and couldn’t be captured or held onto for long.

  
As the credits rolled, Steve stiffened against the sensation of a knife suddenly stabbing through his gut and his hand reflexively flew up to cover the spot. Rather than staying localized, the piercing and sharp throbbing spread throughout his body until it felt as if his joints were being forcibly separated from one another. Livid that the pain would dare to so rudely interrupt their levity, Steve sealed his mouth shut tightly against any involuntary noises, valiantly trying to refuse to give in to it and let it win this time. But his fury and resolve alone were not enough to keep the onslaught of misery at bay. Steve slapped a hand onto the coffee table in front of him, gripping it until his knuckles blanched from the pressure. _“Dammit!”_

  
Max and Dustin were the only two of the six that had any idea of what was going on at first, the latter muscling his way over Mike and placing a hand onto Steve’s back before calmly stating, “I’m going to go get your medicine. Just try to keep breathing until I get back, alright? Max? Help him. Mike, hold his hand.”

  
Mike’s hand was yanked over until it was enclosed by the quaking digits that Steve had previously been digging and kneading into his torso. Mike’s fingers were crammed against one another from the force as Max grounded Steve with a hand on each of his cheeks, guiding him through different breathing exercises that, based on her research, were aimed more directly at pain relief than the ones she had attempted with him on the first go-around. “You can do it, Steve. Just keep following me, okay?”

  
Steve tried to mirror her. He really did. But somehow this flare seemed even worse than the last couple, as if each one reached a more heightened intensity. His hand clutched the coffee table until Steve thought the wood would splinter beneath his fingertips. Frustrated tears leaked from his eyes as he fought against the nausea that was distantly bubbling in his gut as a consequence of the severe and penetrating pain. Every time he exhaled, he released a soft, pitiful ‘Uh’ sound and his stomach contents crept that much farther towards the surface until there was no holding them back. Steve couldn’t even warn them. All he could do was whip off the cannula to prevent the tubes from getting disgustingly clogged with what was coming.

  
Anticipating the urgent need, the kids began to search frantically around for a bin of some sort, but it was El who came to the rescue. She quickly levitated the nearly empty popcorn bowl into Steve’s lap with only seconds to spare, the few unpopped kernels still rattling around the bottom of the plastic container as the bitter, foul-smelling bile spewed from Steve’s lips and nostrils with each heave.

  
Having heard the commotion, Dustin hurriedly came back into the room, arms full and muttering obscenities. He prepared the shot and administered it with as much alacrity as he could. When it appeared Steve had finished with this round of vomiting, Dustin removed the bowl and passed it to Will before dragging a warm wash cloth over the tears staining Steve’s waxen cheeks, saving the remnants clinging to his nose and mouth for last. Dustin gently guided Steve into a reclined position on the couch before settling the oxygen back into place so his friend’s breaths could stop coming in shallow, quick bursts from the exertion and lack of air.

  
Will placed a fresh bucket by Steve’s head in case there was a second round, and Lucas had unfolded a blanket that Steve hugged tightly to himself, attempting to stave off the fine tremors afflicting his body. Mike never dared to let go of his hand once, not only to provide comfort for Steve but for himself, as well. Just when Mike thought there wasn’t any other terrible aspects of Steve’s illness left that had yet to be discovered, something that was somehow even more frightening and horrific came along to prove otherwise.

  
Mike now fully comprehended Dustin’s sense of complete helplessness when it came to Steve better than ever before. The embers of concern and anxiety smoldering within him over Steve’s latest trial sparked the kindling until it erupted into an uncontrollable blaze of wrath over the pointlessness and injustice of it all, festering and threatening to burn its way out of him without any regard to the destruction it would leave in its path. Mike fought to extinguish those fires, but the longer he stared at Steve’s frailty, the more difficult it became.

  
As Steve’s eyelids drooped further and further down with exhaustion, none of the kids made a move to get up. They all, including Mike, were remaining at their posts to stand sentry over the guy that for so long had been their protector and guardian, but was heartbreakingly reduced to the one needing to be shielded and defended from the mutiny within his own body. It was a war against a merciless enemy that Steve would ultimately lose in the end while all the rest of them could do was numbly watch it play out from the sidelines to its tragic conclusion.

  
The front door metallically jiggled, and Nancy and Jonathan snuck through it, striving but failing to maintain their hushed speech. Nancy’s barely repressed giggles as she balanced on Jonathan to slide her shoes off irked Mike even further, but it was the bliss radiating off his sister that really sent him over the edge and made him lose his tenuous grip on his emotions. “Will you two shut up? You’ll wake up Steve.”

  
“Sorry.” Jonathan had the decency to at least seem remorseful for a split second before a grin stretched across his lips again.

  
“You two seem over the moon,” Will observed quietly.

  
“That’s because we are,” Jonathan draped an arm around Nancy’s shoulders and kissed her hair.

  
Nancy started to thrust her left hand out, but Mike whispered harshly, “How nice for you two, but Steve’s had a rough night and like I said before, he’s _sleeping!”_

  
“Not anymore,” Steve grumbled, lifting a hand to rub his temples before blinking his eyes open wearily.

  
“Great! Good going, assholes,” Mike snarled.

  
“Mike, just calm down. This isn’t helping Steve,” Dustin placated.

  
“Yeah, what is with you,” Nancy inquired in bewilderment before singsongingly adding, “We’re just excited because we just got _engaged_.”

  
“Congratulations,” Will exclaimed happily as Max and El rushed forward to examine the ring. Lucas looked to Dustin who merely shook his head and kept a watchful eye on Steve, monitoring his reaction.

  
Before Steve could even add his well wishes, Mike bristled and spat out, “You’re _unbelievable_ , you know that? While you two were out playing house, Steve was here in pure _agony_. And he finally, _finally_ gets a break from it enough to sleep, and you just waltz in here with no consideration for what’s going on outside of your little perfect bubble. Like all Steve’s going through doesn’t even matter. You skip off to college for most of the year without a care in the world, and then come back and what? Still pretend like nothing is happening while the rest of us are here and dealing with reality.”

  
“Mike, I know-,” Nancy began, but Mike wasn’t interested in her flimsy explanation.

  
“No, you _don’t!_ Or you wouldn’t come in here and be so tactless as to parade your engagement in front of your extremely sick ex-boyfriend. The one you treated like _garbage_ when all he ever did was love you and whose heart got broken in return,” Mike said brusquely, but his close friends could hear the sadness concealed underneath the resentment.

  
Steve painstakingly raised himself up on his elbows and reached out for Mike, not missing Nancy’s shattered and distraught countenance. “Hey, stop, okay? That was a long time ago. It’s okay. I’m okay.”

  
But Mike was undeterred. “And if that weren’t bad enough by itself, you come in here and _flaunt_ all your future plans while Steve’s actively losing his. He’s _dying_ and it’s like you don’t even _care_. You just keep rubbing his nose in it over and over again. It’s so not fair! He’s been more of a brother to me the last few years than you’ve ever been a sister. He shouldn’t be the one…I wish it was _you_ instead!”

  
“Michael Evan Wheeler! That’s enough!” Steve had never called any of them by their full given name, and that alone made it quite apparent how furious he was at Mike’s outburst. It was necessary for him to yell, but just that small action cost him. Steve’s next sentences lacked any real strength behind them. “Sorry. Both of you. Despite what Mike thinks, I really am happy for you guys. Can everyone give us a few minutes? Please?”

  
Once everyone else left the room, Mike deflated onto the coffee table in front of Steve who was currently trying to reposition himself with great effort onto his side to face the younger boy. The winces at the movement struck more guilt into Mike’s heart than anything he had said. “Sorry, Steve. I didn’t mean to stress you out any more than you already are.”

  
“It’s not me you need to apologize to,” Steve pointed out. “The things you said were pretty awful. And wildly untrue.”

  
“Oh, so Nancy _didn’t_ treat you like crap and move right on to the guy she’s now engaged to,” Mike sniped.

  
“Yeah, but Mike…we’ve been over this. I wasn’t exactly a saint, either,” Steve reminded him. “Things have a funny way of working out how they’re supposed to.”

  
“How can you, of all people, sit there and say that,” Mike asked defensively.

  
“Because, Mike…Think about it. Say Nancy and I were still together. Or had even gotten married by now. I’d be making her a widow before she even…Or what if we had a kid already? I’d be leaving them both behind and Nancy would have to raise the child alone. Is that really what you would want for your sister?” Steve had said all this before, but he was trying to wade through the debris of Mike’s ire to appeal to the more rational side of the younger Wheeler.

  
Mike did appear to actually be contemplating the scenario just presented to him. “I guess not. It’s just it makes me want to puke how they come in here with their perfect lives like everything’s _normal_ and – and it’s, like, the total opposite of that here. It’s… _gross_ ,” Mike muttered thickly.

  
“Would you feel better about it if I said I knew this was going to happen,” Steve asked tentatively.

  
Mike’s brows knitted together in confusion. “What do you mean? Like you just assumed?”

  
“Look, it wasn’t a surprise, alright? I knew Jonathan was going to ask her to marry him because we had a conversation about it.” Steve rested a hand on Mike’s knee and waited to continue until he was sure Mike was giving him his full attention. “Jonathan wanted my blessing. Neither one of them need it, but they wanted it all the same. He was going to wait until…well, later…but I told him to do it sooner. They shouldn’t have to wait on my account, and I – I wanted to see them together.”

  
“What? Are you crazy? Why would you do that to yourself,” Mike exclaimed indignantly, but taking in the expression on Steve’s face he mollified his tone. “It’s just not fair that they get their happily ever after and you’re just – just left in the dust. You – you don’t even get an ever after. This is so messed up.”

  
“Yeah, Mike. It is,” Steve couldn’t deny Mike’s assessment. “But just because I don’t get to have one doesn’t mean I don’t want to see the people that I care about be happy. In fact, it’s really important to me that I do. As self-absorbed as it sounds, I _need to know_ that you’re all going to be okay after I’m gone. That your lives will go on. Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you shitheads have avoided mentioning anything about college or the rest of your futures for awhile now. That’s exactly what I _don’t_ want. For you all to feel that you can’t even say certain things around me because of what I’m going through. It makes me feel worse about things than I already do. Does any of that make sense?”

  
“Yeah. Sorry. We just wanted to spare you,” Mike said contritely. “You seem pretty calm about everything, but still…If I were in your shoes, I’d be pretty upset.”

  
“Who says I’m not? I’m _fucking pissed_ ,” Steve shared honestly.

  
“You are?” Mike's eyebrows went so far up in disbelief, they blended in with his increasingly shaggy, dark hair. “But you don’t show it. At least to us.”

  
“I started to. Believe me. To people that didn’t deserve it. Like Robin. And my parents.” Steve rolled his eyes. “Okay, maybe _they_ deserved it a little, but you see my point. If I had kept going like I was and let it take over, maybe I would’ve bitched at you guys unfairly or really took things too far and screwed up relationships because of it.”

  
“If anyone has a right to be angry, it’s you, Steve,” Mike excused.

  
“Maybe. But I don’t have a right to take it out on the people around me who are just trying to help and aren’t even remotely responsible for the whole shitty situation.” Steve gave Mike’s knee a squeeze to soften the blow of what he was about to say. “Kinda like you did with Nancy, right? It’s not really her you’re mad at, is it?”

  
Mike sighed and dropped his hands into his lap, picking self-consciously at a cuticle to avert his eyes from Steve. “No. Okay? It’s not her.”

  
“I know. _All_ your friends know. Mike, look at me.” Steve waited until Mike met his unwavering gaze. “You have a tendency to lash out in anger if something’s bothering you. We’ve all seen it, and deep down, I think you know it, too. But dude, that anger is toxic. It’s going to bury you if you don’t learn to deal with things. One day you may even unleash it on the wrong person. Someone who doesn’t know you and love you like we all do. You might even get really hurt because of it.”

  
Tears flooded Mike’s eyes, and he had to focus on something else or he would lose the fight to stave them off. Steve labored to scoot himself up enough to prop himself into a semi-upright position against the pillows. The discomfort he was still experiencing made it a more monumental effort than it should have been and elicited more than a few winces and gasps in the process.

  
Finally, Steve made it into the position, somewhat breathlessly, that he was aiming for. He reached out and took Mike’s cheeks firmly between his hands. “Promise me you’ll let that anger go, Mike. _Promise me_.”

  
The picture of Steve before him, who mere hours ago was assaulted by unfathomable pain and violently sick because of it, forced to breath with the aid of plastic tubes and his life slipping away little by little in spite of everything he’d been through, caused the wetness to trickle down onto Mike’s cheeks. Steve was way more perceptive than they gave him credit for, especially when it came to them. And the very thought that Steve could care enough about his well-being enough to push aside the mountain of his own problems to address Mike’s was truly humbling, although it was far from the first time Steve had put any of their welfare before his own. Steve’s concern in the midst of his own crisis resonated with Mike in a way that nothing ever had before, and he found himself releasing a flurry of minute nods in response. “Okay. I’ll try. For you, Steve.”

  
Steve slowly swiveled his head back and forth. “Don’t do it for me, Mike. Do it for yourself.”

  
Mike started to bring his hands up to encircle Steve’s increasingly bony and slender wrists that were just inches from his face, but changed course and wrapped his arms around Steve instead. For the first time in far too long, Mike let himself release tears into Steve’s chest in lieu of the fury he had grown accustomed to letting show.

  
Steve just held onto him until Mike tapered off and pulled back a little, implying that he was done purging all his pent-up emotions for the moment. The younger boy scrubbed at his eyes with his sleeve. “Thanks, Steve. I think – I think maybe I should go apologize to Nancy and Jonathan now.”

  
“Probably a good idea. But only if you really mean it, okay? They deserve a genuine one.” Steve smiled kindly at him to show that he wasn’t trying to assign him any more guilt than he already had, just simply stating a fact. Before Mike left the living room, Steve added, “And can you maybe send Dustin in here please?”

  
“Okay. Sure,” Mike hurried out of the room, clearly reading the poorly disguised anguish reflected in Steve’s eyes and understanding instantly why he requested the other boy’s presence. He approached Will’s room shamefully, but because of Steve, didn’t forestall his entrance. “I’m really, really sorry you guys about everything, but Dustin? Steve wants you.”

  
Dustin shot off of Will’s bed and dashed to the doorway, barely acknowledging Mike or his apology on his way out until Mike followed him out to the hallway and halted his momentum with a hand to his shoulder. “See. I told you. Steve asked for _you_ because he’s hurting and needs help. So, go do what you do best and make him feel better.”

  
Mike smiled knowingly at Dustin, and even though Steve was his top priority, Dustin paused long enough to smile back to show there was no bad blood between them before racing off to the living room.

  
“What’s going on, Steve?” Dustin sat himself on the coffee table to be at eye level with his friend.

  
“How many milligrams did you give me last time?”

  
“Three. Just like the first time. Why,” Dustin inquired. “Do you need more?”

  
“Yeah. Yeah, I think I do,” Steve admitted while smoothing out the blanket covering his lower half. “I can have five at a time. Would you – would you mind getting the other two?”

  
“You got it, buddy. Just sit tight.” Steve just shot him a pointed look. “Right. I’ll be right back.”

  
It took Dustin less than a minute to reappear with the supplies. He was getting faster preparing the syringe and had injected the medicine before Steve practically even had a chance to blink. “Thanks, Dusty. I mean it. Really. I appreciate everything you’re doing for me. You’re really good at it. Ever think of doing this for a living, Dr. Dustin?”

  
Steve’s praise was bittersweet. Dustin wished that he had never had to learn the skills that he had because of Steve’s condition, but it swelled him up with pride to know that he might’ve done something more to help his friend than stand idly by and watch him succumb to his illness without alleviating any of his suffering. Echoes of Mike’s words rang throughout his head. “’Dr. Dustin’, huh? I like the sound of that.”

  
“Me too,” Steve mumbled, the medicine slowly pulling him under.

  
As March yielded to the milder month of April, the Leukemia was becoming harder and harder to keep in check and Steve’s decline became that much more heartbreakingly evident. The time between his episodes of acute pain narrowed to such a margin that they were barely spaced out enough to give him adequate time to recover before another one was striking. Even something as simple and taken for granted as drawing a breath was becoming overtaxing to Steve’s already afflicted system and wearing him out prematurely. The doctors recommended increasing the delivery rate of his oxygen from two liters per minute to four to lessen the strain on Steve’s lungs and ease his burden somewhat.

  
Still, regardless of the additional oxygen, working to breathe sapped Steve’s already dwindling strength more and more as time went on. As the generalized weakness grew more pervasive, Steve’s steps became more deliberate and uncertain. There was always someone within arm’s reach to catch him if he pitched forward suddenly or wobbled unsteadily and lurched sideways, or just nearby, in general, to assist him to do basic, everyday things. Eating itself had once again developed into the chore it had been when Steve had first undergone the intense treatments. Steve’s appetite always fluctuated, but the fatigue that seemed to cling to him like an aura only compounded the problem. Steve often drifted off now – sometimes even in the middle of a meal or a conversation.

  
But despite all his deficits and maladies, Steve was still there with them. His family and friends were conflicted – caught between being grateful for one more day with him, but knowing that each passing day brought him new struggles and discomfort. No one had been certain that Steve would live to see his twenty-second birthday, the doctors having only given him an estimated four months if he didn’t respond to the intrathecal chemotherapy. His birthday would mark nearly five.

  
None of them had been keen on making any kind of definitive plans until the week of Steve’s birthday, afraid that by doing so too far ahead of the date would somehow jinx it and Steve would be stolen away in the night before anyone ever got the opportunity to celebrate his life. All the kids knew was that they wanted to make this last birthday extra special for him while still heeding Steve’s limitations. They wouldn’t get another chance.

  
El led him by the hand onto the porch, her other hand cradling his elbow to stabilize him. It was her job to keep him away from the front of the house and out of sight of the kitchen. Steve squinted at her against the blinding brilliance of the bright sunlight, always somewhat skeptical of any of the kids’ schemes. “What are you guys up to? Should I be getting the nailbat?”

  
“No,” El giggled before turning serious again. “Secret.”

  
“Jesus. You six are going to send me to an early grave with all your shit. Oh wait. Too late,” Steve sheepishly laughed at his own dark humor.

  
“Not funny,” El scolded, scowling at him before gently prodding him to continue walking. “C’mon. Beautiful day.”

  
“I don’t know. I thought it was pretty funny. Maybe we have to work on your sense of humor more because I think I’m freakin’ _hilarious_.” Steve paused at the top of the steps and was mesmerized by just how blue the sky was. How the white of the fluffy clouds lazily floating by made it seem an even crisper azure in comparison. Steve let the warm air waft over him, carrying with it the faint floral scent of Spring and lifting his hair away from his forehead and causing it to dance playfully in the breeze. “You’re right. Today’s absolutely gorgeous. So, what are we doing?”

  
El just grinned at him slyly instead of answering before switching the oxygen tank from his back to her own. She encircled her arm around his waist and waited patiently for him to brace himself on the newly installed railing on his left side before attempting the brief descent. He made several false starts with his right foot, struggling to find his balance, before letting it land on the sagging wood below, and bringing his left foot down next to it. In Steve’s opinion, it was pathetic how long it took him just to navigate those couple of steps, but El didn’t seem to mind.

  
The younger girl escorted him around the corner to the open side yard where the expanse of sky was most visible. A blanket was spread out on the ground with mountains of pillows heaped upon it. “Cloud watching. Always wanted to try it. Will you do it with me? Please?”

  
“You mean you’ve never done this yet?” She shook her head. Sometimes Steve forgot just how many innocent and simple pleasures El had lost to the captivity of her childhood. Everything she had missed out on saddened him, but it also elated him to know that she wanted to share any of those newly discovered things with him. “Of course, I will. I’d really like that, El.”

  
“Good.” El wore a satisfied smile as she assisted Steve in arranging himself on the blanket. He more collapsed onto it than anything and going down would prove remarkably easier than getting up again, but Steve would worry about that later. For now, he allowed himself to be carried away by El’s infectious joy and wonderment.

  
Steve lost track of how long they were out there, but the temperature was a perfect seventy-five degrees and the sun wasn’t inducing a migraine like it sometimes did. They took turns pointing out clouds shaped like butterflies or cars or dogs or a castle or whatever else their mind could assign to the billowy formations. Sometimes El’s imagination was oddly specific, like one wispy cloud that she thought reminded her of Steve’s hairstyle. The images Steve saw drifting languidly across the sky were much more general, but El’s were way more entertaining.

  
The clouds eventually started to thin out in the peak heat of late afternoon, and they were running out of the cottony formations of water droplets to name. El found a lone one in the corner of their peripheral vision that suited her purpose. “Angel.”

  
Steve followed her finger, unaware that El’s attention was diverted from the sky above and now solely trained on him. “I don’t know. Looks more like Tinkerbell to me.”

  
“No. Angel.” El was more insistent. “Look closer.”

  
“I _am_ looking, kiddo. I’m sorry. It looks differently to me. Doesn’t mean you’re wrong. I just don’t see the same thing you do. It happens,” Steve tried to explain without offending her, still not realizing El was staring directly at him in profile, admiring the way the golden sunlight caught the tips of his dark eyelashes and filtered through his hair.

  
“No! Not cloud! Steve,” El stated more emphatically. When it was clear Steve still wasn’t getting it, she lightly poked his ribs. “Angel.”

  
“What,” Steve was utterly dumfounded and finally tore his gaze away from the sky and back towards her, searching her face to try to puzzle out the riddle of her meaning.

  
“You.” El then repeated the same word while still tapping slightly harder on his ribcage. “Angel.”

  
“El, I’m pretty dense…I’m sorry, I don’t understand.” Steve could tell the poor girl was getting frustrated at his dimwittedness, but she refused to quit and renewed her determination to get her message across.

  
“Protector. Guardian. You,” El removed her one hand from his side and laid it against his cheek, the tubing depressed into the hollowness forming there. The other hand she rested over the spot on his chest where she could feel his heart beating. “ _You_. _Our_ angel. Our _guardian angel_.”

  
Like a freight train, comprehension finally hit Steve and it rendered him speechless. El’s stilted way of speaking had improved over the time she had spent with them, but her directness and truthfulness remained ever present. She was probably the only person on Earth literally incapable of telling a lie, and it robbed Steve of the little breath he had puttering around his dilapidated lungs that this might be the light in which she saw him. “Me? You think…“

  
“Don’t think. _Know_. All of us.” El spoke with such conviction that it was hard to refute her statement, but Steve knew he was not worthy of being held in such high esteem by this pure creature. “Keep us _safe_. _Always_.”

  
“El…”

  
“Friends don’t lie. Hopper taught me the meaning. Angel is you. _Our_ angel. Down here.” El nuzzled into Steve’s side, never once moving her hands from where they rested upon his cheek and over his heart. “Soon. Up there. Still angel. _Our guardian angel_. Our Steve.”

  
His impending death always loomed above his head, more so than ever these days. It was something that was never far from the forefront of Steve’s mind and he thought of it often. Of course, he did. But he never let himself dwell too much on what came after. It was a subject he hadn’t been quite ready to face just yet. El’s definitive faith that there _was_ an after and the role Steve would play in it sent a tidal wave of emotion washing over him until he was positively drowning in it.

  
El felt the moisture gathering on his cheeks and raised her head. “Oh no! Did I say something wrong? Hurt?”

  
Steve hugged her tightly. “Oh my God, El. No. No, not at all. I just…” How could he explain all the jumbled up philosophical questions boomeranging around his head, and what they all meant, to a girl that could barely grasp far less abstract concepts?

  
Hopper seemed to come from out of nowhere, his elongated shadow stretching across the ground as he towered over them and blocked out the sun, essentially saving Steve from an incredibly complicated and difficult discussion. Steve hadn’t even heard the Blazer pull up, too engrossed in his and El’s exchange to be aware of anything else. “Just what in the hell is going on here? What are you two doing?”

  
“Cloud watching,” El said plainly.

  
“Uh-huh. Well, why don’t you go in and see how it’s coming along while I wrangle up Steve, here?” Hopper waited until El had obediently risen and disappeared back into the house. “Everything okay out here? You’re looking a little soggy there, kid.”

  
“It’s your outfit. It’s so bad, it’s making me cry,” Steve quipped. “You know, they do make these things called ‘irons’ nowadays.”

  
“And this is the thanks I get for dressing up for the occasion? I’ll have you know, I look _sharp_ ,” Hopper mock-scoffed while pulling at the lapels of his beige sport coat that covered his pastel Hawaiian shirt. “Maybe the cancer is affecting your eyesight.”

  
“Yeah, I heard old man chic is making a comeback.” Steve laughed, enjoying the easy banter.

  
“Watch it, Harrington or I’ll leave you floundering on your back like a turtle,” Hopper waved a warning finger at him jokingly.

  
“Go ahead. It’s not like there’s not a gang of teenagers inside that I can sic on you and have them annoy you to death or anything,” Steve dared kiddingly before turning more serious, gesturing vaguely at himself. “ _This_ is courtesy of your daughter and her damn honesty. It’s still so…overwhelming sometimes. I have no idea why, but she seems to think I walk on water or something.”

  
“Take you by surprise, did she? Yeah, she has a tendency to do that.” Hopper smiled kindly down at Steve before letting it transform into more of what could be described as a shit-eating grin. “And maybe it’s because you ain’t exactly walking too well on the ole terra firma anymore. C’mon birthday boy, let’s get you off the ground. God knows what bugs are crawling around down there.”

  
Hopper squatted down and hooked his arms underneath Steve’s armpits to get him into a sitting position before he even attempted standing him up. The policeman tried to be extra gentle knowing that more often than not these days, Steve’s lymph nodes were swollen, leaving them sore and tender. The ones along his jawline were the most prominent and easily visible, but underneath his arms were one of the most sensitive spots.

  
Steve was barely standing on his own feet with Hopper’s support before Dustin came bursting out of the screen door. “Good. You’re here. Because we’ve got a _huge_ problem. Like a Code Red situation. _Someone_ ,” Dustin yelled loudly over his shoulder, “switched the sugar and the salt. And now it’s so inedible I don’t even think dogs will eat it. We totally ruined your birthday dinner. I’m so, so sorry, Steve.”

  
“Don’t sweat it. We’ll just get KFC or something,” Steve shrugged. The food didn’t really matter all that much to him.

  
“This is a disaster of epic proportions! We really blew it. Way to go, assholes,” Dustin bellowed melodramatically.

  
“Hey, hey, hey! Everyone stow it! Tonight isn’t ruined, alright? And we are _not_ just getting fast food takeout. How do you feel about going out to eat, Steve? Do you think you can tolerate it? And don’t pick something cheap like the diner, either if you say ‘yes’. We can do better than that. What do you say?” Steve nodded his assent. He wasn’t sure how much stamina he had, but it was worth a shot. The kids would be horribly disappointed after all their hard work if Steve didn’t agree and let them try to fix it. “Alright, then. We’re all dressed up already. How about Enzo’s?”

  
Dustin darted back inside, commanding the kids to wash up without even waiting for a confirmation. Steve tried to protest. “No, c’mon. That’s too much. And there’s too many of us for something that nice.”

  
Hopper squeezed him into a firm side-hug. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. I had a feeling the little gremlins would be biting off more than they could chew, so I made a reservation for all of us just in case. It’s in an hour, so let’s get you cleaned up and dressed. Joyce’ll be home in a few minutes to get changed herself and we can go soon after.”

  
They had to take two cars to the restaurant. Hopper parked in front of the door utilizing the handicap placard he had obtained for Steve’s sake while Joyce slid into a slot a few rows over. She led the teens into the establishment to procure their tables, leaving Hopper to assist Steve inside. After securing the oxygen tank onto his own back, he carefully helped Steve out of the passenger seat, maintaining a strong grip on both his hand and his elbow as they made their way up the sloped concrete onto the sidewalk. “Just take it slow. There’s no rush, kid.”

  
Hopper steadied Steve before opening the door and keeping it in place with his foot as he led Steve inside. The first thing Steve became aware of was that he knew all the patrons inside, including Nancy and Jonathan who had obviously made a special trip to town to be here. The second was that some of the tables were empty which was never usually the case.

  
“Surprise,” everyone screamed in unison.

  
“What? How?” Steve brought his steepled hands up to cover his mouth in disbelief.

  
“Surprised? Happy Birthday, kid,” Hopper murmured against his hair before planting a fatherly kiss to it.

  
The kids had surprised him and had thrown him birthday parties before, but this even surpassed anything they had done prior. Except maybe this past Christmas. It was so much, and Steve didn’t think that he would ever get used to the feeling that he got from his family treating him as if he were one of the most special and loved people in the universe, no matter how many times they had showed him that he was. “You guys…thank you!”

  
Dustin popped up in front of him, wearing a ridiculous party hat. “Yeah, so we actually didn’t fuck up the food.”

  
“Dusty,” Claudia said, aghast at his colorful language.

  
“Sorry, Mom. _Mess up_ the food. Am I a good actor or what? We were actually baking the cake. Which is over there,” Dustin waved his arm in a grandiose gesture at a triple layer, chocolate confection that was perfect in its homemade imperfections.

  
“Oh, Dusty. Stop hogging all of Steve’s attention.” Claudia nudged her son aside lovingly and placed her hands on Steve’s cheeks before drawing him into an embrace. “Happy Birthday, sweetheart.”

  
“Thank you, Mrs. Henderson.”

  
“Claudia, dear,” she reminded him, although Steve would likely never address her as such. He had enough trouble calling Joyce by her first name.

  
Steve was situated between Claudia and Dustin, and across from Robin, at dinner. He wasn’t very hungry, but he felt he should at least make an attempt to eat. Steve’s face flamed with humiliation as he fumbled with his knife and fork while cutting what was on his plate. Claudia discreetly cut his food for him and then reached over and did the same to Dustin’s dinner so as to not make Steve feel as if he were singled out. Dustin was usually accepting of his mother’s affections without argument and welcomed it even more so when he realized what she was doing. He beamed at his friend. “Just let her do it, Steve,” Dustin said more loudly than necessary. “It’s her motherly prerogative. She enjoys it.”

  
Dustin, bless him, was trying to cover for Steve’s difficulties and he appreciated the effort. “Thanks, man.”

  
“Anytime. Happy Birthday, buddy.” Dustin raised his flute glass of Sprite in Steve’s direction, and Steve reciprocated by lifting his largely untouched glass of champagne.

  
Sparklers adorned the cake alongside a multitude of brightly lit candles that Steve failed to produce enough air to blow out until Max and Dustin leaned in to add to his weak stream. The festivities remained outwardly upbeat, but there was an undercurrent of sadness just below the surface. Everyone was cognizant that this would be the last birthday that Steve would ever celebrate. It had been a possibility before, but now was an absolute, devastating certainty. Steve would eternally be frozen at twenty-two, never to grow any older beyond that tragically young age.

  
Nothing his family did for Steve that day could even conceivably come close to expressing the full magnitude of their love for him and how he had touched each of their lives, but judging by the contented gleam shining in his eyes, they knew they had at least partially succeeded. They had all fallen into bed with a lighter heart than they had begun the day with. Even Steve managed to sleep through the entirety of the night which is a comfort his ailing body rarely allowed him anymore.

  
Will padded across the hall in the morning, wiping the sleep blearily from his eyes. He was the first one up and was on his way to check on Steve. It was automatic at this point for all of them. First, wake up, then at least peek their head in to make sure he was okay. There were times Steve was still sleeping, others that he blinked dazedly back at them, but rarely, if ever, was he perched on the edge of the bed like he currently was this morning.

  
“Steve,” Will called tentatively.

  
Steve stopped the inspection of his surroundings and squinted at Will. “What are you doing here, little Byers?” It was a seemingly innocent question, but that was a nickname Steve had not used for him in years, so right away Will knew something was amiss. “How did you get here?”

  
“What do you mean? We’re at home, Steve. This is your room,” Will said meekly, unsure of what was going on, but the beginnings of sick dread flared inside his gut.

  
“Yeah, I know it’s my room, but how did you get here? Is the gate closed now? Did we all wind up back at my house or something?” Steve scrunched up his face in puzzlement, rubbing the back of his neck. “Is that why my head hurts so much? From Billy? But why am I so weak? I didn’t feel like this after Jonathan…”

  
It had become gradually and distressingly obvious that Steve’s head, for whatever reason, was telling him it was the past. This definitely wasn’t normal, and Will was smart enough to know this was a situation he couldn’t deal with on his own and he was much too scared to try. “Mom. Mom!”

  
“Will. Baby? What is it,” Joyce flew into Steve’s bedroom, hurriedly cinching her robe closed. She had first gone into Will’s room and not finding anyone in there, went to the next logical place.

  
“Something – something’s wrong with Steve. He doesn’t – he doesn’t-,” Will’s voice trembled as Joyce reached a hand up to stroke her son’s hair to help calm him down. It worked somewhat as he managed to whisper a clearer explanation. “He thinks he’s at his house. His _old_ house. After we closed the gate. After Billy beat him up.”

  
“Mrs. Byers?”

  
Joyce’s mouth had been forming a larger and larger ‘O’ the longer her youngest son spoke, but as soon as Steve shakily called her name – her _formal_ name that he hadn’t addressed her by in years – she slipped out of the shock that had kept her rooted to the spot where she stood and sat by the other boy’s side on the edge of the bed. She tucked a lock of the brunette hair behind his ear. “Steve? Honey? How do you feel?”

  
Steve tugged at his hair with both hands. “My head – my head really hurts, Mrs. Byers. I can’t remember – Billy, I think - How did we get to my house?”

  
Joyce felt the moisture pooling in her eyes, but she fought it back, smiling and grabbing one of Steve’s hands in both of hers. She spoke in warm, hushed tones as if she were talking to a young child so as not to startle them. “Steve, you’re at my house. This is your room. In our house.”

  
“What,” Steve knitted his brows together in bewilderment.

  
“That’s not important right now, sweetie.” Joyce let go of his hand and began rubbing up and down his arm soothingly. “Can you tell me if anything else hurts?”

  
“My back is sore. And my – my neck. I can’t – I can’t bend…I must’ve slept wrong after Billy did that number on me,” Steve huffed out a laugh. “Must’ve been worse than I thought.”

  
“Will, could you please tell everyone to let Steve have some space? And maybe call Hopper and tell him to make an appointment with the doctor for us. Okay, baby?” Joyce had noticed the kids hovering in the hallway, but luckily Steve hadn’t yet. She returned her attention back to the boy on the bed who looked more lost and confused by the minute. “Steve, what – what, um, year is it?”

  
“1984.” If Steve thought it was an odd question, he didn’t show it. Perhaps, deep down, he felt the wrongness of the situation, too. Seeing Joyce’s heartbroken expression Steve tried again to pull the right answer from his muddled brain. “1985?”

  
“Oh, honey. It’s – it’s 1989.” Steve’s eyes widened in panic and he began to get agitated at the apparent revelation of his disorientation. Joyce cupped his face to calm and ground him, immediately registering how hot to the touch he was.

  
“Am I – am I hurt that bad,” Steve’s small and terrified voice ripped the mother’s heart to tiny shreds.

  
“You’re not hurt, Steve. I think – I think you’re really sick. But we’re going to get you to the doctor and get you some help, okay? Steve, look at me, sweetheart.” Joyce was beginning to think they should bypass the doctor’s office completely and head straight to the ER. Steve had been spacey, but still staring in her general direction until a few seconds ago. Now Steve’s eyes had drifted to the side while his hand wandered blindly up to his face.

  
Steve’s fingertips touched the plastic just above his lip. “What’s – what’s this?” Steve clawed at the tubing, almost tearing it off before Joyce could stop him.

  
“Just leave it there, sweetheart. It’s there to help you,” Joyce instructed him as gently and kindly as she could. He listened, but his gaze continued to deviate alarmingly to the side, not focused on any one thing – even her - anymore. “Steve, are you able to look at me? Please baby, show me those beautiful hazel eyes of yours.”

  
Steve gave no indication he had even heard her this time. He sagged limply, inching closer to the mattress.

  
Joyce clasped both of his biceps in her tiny hands to prevent him from entirely collapsing. They almost fit all the way around his scrawny arms. The icy fear coursing through her veins was threatening to take over and she commanded sharply, “Look at me, Steve! I need you to _look at me now!”_

  
Slowly, so slowly, Steve blinked and his eyes roamed sluggishly back towards the center, but were even more unfocused and unseeing than even previously. Before, Joyce had been able to get him to at least glance at her briefly, but Steve’s eyes eerily no longer settled on any one thing at all, as if what was in his sights was off in the distance – or not even in this dimension. Like Will’s had been.

  
Joyce didn’t even have time to fully formulate that thought before Steve stiffened and went rigid in her grasp, his eyes rolling back in his head until only the whites of his eyes were visible. His long limbs began twitching beneath her fingers until the fine trembling morphed into violent, jerking spasms. “Someone, call an ambulance! _Now!”_

  
Lucas and Max both caught her frantic and wild glance, quickly nodding before sprinting off.

  
Dustin tore into the room, both hands threaded anxiously through his curls. “What’s happening with Steve? Oh my God!”

  
Joyce hadn’t wanted the kids to be involved and she was certain Steve wouldn’t want any of them to see him like this, but as she struggled to prevent his thrashing and bucking form from falling on the floor and unconsciously hurting himself, she knew she needed an extra set of hands. “He’s having a seizure. Help me get him on the bed. Grab his legs! Hurry!”

  
Dustin instantly did as he was told and swung his friend’s shuddering lower limbs onto the bed while Joyce shifted his upper half as close to the center of the mattress as she could while shoving a pillow underneath his head. “OhmyGodohmyGod, Steve,” Dustin squeaked out in a horrified whisper.

  
Steve’s body was twisting and bending so unnaturally, it was making it impossible for Joyce to accomplish what she so desperately needed to by herself. She pushed hard against Steve’s back. “Dustin, help me get him on his side.”

  
Dustin pulled from his angle, afraid to do what was asked of him and possibly injuring his friend, but more afraid not to. If he didn’t, Steve could vomit and aspirate or, worse, stop breathing altogether. Finally, working together, they got Steve onto his side, his limbs still repetitively contracting and flailing uncontrollably about.

  
“It’s okay, Steve. I’m here. Mrs. Byers is here. You’re not alone, okay? It’s going to be okay,” Dustin rapidly murmured reassuring words, not even clear on what he was saying or if Steve would even be able to hear him. He kept one hand on Steve’s constantly convulsing form, careful not to restrain him but still with a firm enough grip to keep his friend from rolling off the bed in the midst of his fit. Dustin knelt down on the floor beside him, beginning to weep and wrestling back the hysteria threatening to break through at the sight of Steve’s barely open and empty eyes.

  
Now that it was quieter and frantic instructions weren’t being released in clipped and short bursts, the disturbing gurgling sounds and strangulated grunts coming from Steve’s throat were more audible. Joyce dried her tears with the shoulder of her robe, never removing her hands from Steve, but Dustin just let his emotions flow freely down his cheeks. With each horrible choking noise Steve emitted, Dustin let out another sob simultaneously as if the two of them were spiritually connected somehow, but he never let go of his friend or quit his comforting mantra. “It’s okay, Steve. It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

  
The ambulance seemed to be taking an eternity to get here, but finally… _finally_ Joyce could faintly hear the sirens in the distance. They just had to make it a little longer and help would be here.

  
Dustin used the tail of his shirt to delicately dab away the foamy saliva that had collected at the corners of Steve’s lips and dry the excess that had dripped down his chin, still cautious to avoid the perpetually moving limbs. The awful sounds coming from Steve’s mouth seemed to be mercifully slackening off which they interpreted as a good sign at first that the seizure was slowing down, soon to cease altogether. But as Dustin wiped away more bubbling spittle that had gathered again in the creases of Steve’s partially open mouth, he noticed something even more horrifying and heart-stopping. “Mrs. Byers? Mrs. Byers!”

  
Joyce whipped her head back around at Dustin’s frantic cries. The sirens had grown to a deafening pitch and she could barely hear him over them. Joyce had been silently urging the ambulance to come faster all along, and she nearly breathed a sigh of relief as it seemed her prayers had been answered. That was, until Dustin spoke:

  
“Steve’s lips are blue.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know there may be some disappointed readers that wanted me to delve into Steve's conversation with his parents. I do make brief mentions of it in this part, but plan on addressing it more in a future part. And I middle-named Mike! I don't recall the show mentioning it, so I gave him my own. I know I've said this before...I'm hoping to wrap this us up in two more parts, but with the way I've been writing, it'll more likely be three. That said, I am 1000% sure that it will be no more than three. You may have noticed by now that I've made it a point for Steve to have a 'moment' with each character. Will was last chapter, and I covered Lucas, Max, Mike, and El in this chapter. And of course, there will be more to come in the next part. So, whether it's two or three parts depends on how long I need to make that happen and fully tell the story. Thank you for coming this far with me! I hope your New Year has been fantastic so far and will continue to be! Stay safe and take care of yourselves and each other!


	21. 'Cause the Hardest Part of This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recovering from a medical crisis and facing his own mortality is nothing new for Steve, but finding peace and acceptance as the end of his life fast approaches is challenging and unchartered territory. Seeking answers to some of the big philosophical questions, getting closure, and coming to a difficult decision are part of the journey. Whether it be through a confrontation with his parents or special moments that he shares with his friends - primarily Robin, Nancy, Dustin, and Jonathan - he at least partially succeeds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for discussion of sexuality and for discussions of many topics surrounding death, including beliefs. The subject matter in general, is pretty heavy and I try to be as real as possible without being too graphic...but we have not quite reached *that* part yet. From the bottom of my heart, I appreciate all the love and support given to this story and myself. I had a harder time with this part and wrote and re-wrote it over and over. I hope it's not too awful and is still worth reading. Wishing you all good health and prosperity. As always, happy reading!

Aseptic meningitis. That was the formal diagnosis, but a specific offending microorganism had yet to be pinpointed. It was unclear if it was even pathogenic in nature or just a progression of the Leukemia itself. The doctors couldn’t agree on anything except there was alarming inflammation around Steve’s brain and spinal cord and given the fact that he had already suffered a seizure, they had to get it down as fast as possible.

  
Steve had been shuttled into the emergency department wholly unconscious and unresponsive and was largely kept that way with heavy sedation for the next several days to let his brain properly rest while he was pumped full of every possible medication that might quickly resolve the crisis. Fluids and antibiotics and antivirals and antifungals flowed into him in a continuous stream, along with the drugs meant to keep him under. It wasn’t quite a coma, but close enough as the medical team worked against the clock to identify the cause of this latest setback.

  
The doctors had debated over sedating someone so terribly confused initially, but Steve had awoken briefly, shortly after arrival, and was so agitated that he was on the verge of hurting himself and making things exponentially worse. To prevent any further damage and give him a chance to heal, the doctors felt it was the best option. But despite all the precautions, Steve still suffered a second seizure the next day after he was admitted.

  
The medical team swarmed the pallid and convulsing boy, arguing over whether to intubate him or not to protect his airway. Steve had only narrowly avoided the invasive procedure to begin with thanks to some quick-thinking paramedics and a well-timed use of the ambu bag that jumpstarted his ability to breathe for himself. The dispute raged on as Hopper and Joyce were pushed unceremoniously to the side in the frenzy. The only coherent thought that Joyce could form in the melee was that she was thankful Steve hadn’t been awake when he had gone into the throes of this last fit.

  
Hopper was more predisposed to action, and fed up with the perceived ineptitude, he muscled his way back to the bedside, ignoring every warning to stay back. Once there, he laid a solid palm onto the junction of Steve’s forehead where it met his hairline, overcome with a powerful sense of helplessness as he watched Steve’s neck and shoulders strain and arch viciously off the starched sheets, his head thumping a harder and harder rhythm into the pillow. “I don’t care what you do, but do _something_ for him, for God’s sake, instead of just standing there squabbling like _incompetent idiots_!”

  
The problem was, there wasn’t much more anyone _could_ do for Steve at that time other than keep a close eye on his vital signs and adjust the medications and supplemental oxygen. And deep down, Hopper knew it too. The policeman’s eyes watered angrily as he stared down at the boy whose twitching limbs were finally mercifully stilling, the only signs of life left the fog that intermittently clung to the occlusive oxygen mask with each panting exhalation and the fast, but steady beat of the heart monitor.

  
As upsetting as seeing Steve like this was for the adults, they knew it would be even more so for the kids. Even after the threat of an infectious variety of meningitis had been eliminated as the cause, Hopper and Joyce still kept the kids from visiting to spare them from being present during another seizure, or equally as disturbing, in the event that Steve woke up in the same fugue-like state he had been before he had fallen unconscious, not knowing _where_ or _when_ he was.

  
Dustin’s persistent tearful pleas eventually wore them down. “Please. You don’t understand. Since he got sick the second time, I’ve never left his side without saying goodbye first or never _not_ told him goodnight before I've gone to bed every night just in case… something _bad_ happened. Something like this. I know he’s not awake, but…what if he _never_ wakes up? I just need to _talk_ to him. Let him know I’m _here_.”

  
Both Hopper and Joyce recalled Steve acknowledging how meaningful the brotherly bond the two of them shared was, and how the teenager had been there right beside him through even his lowest moments. And it was obvious that the sentiment was very much reciprocated. Maybe hearing another friendly voice would help the ailing boy in a way that medicine couldn’t.

  
After that, keeping Dustin away from Steve seemed crueler and more harmful to both boys than any other potential scenario that could occur. The care Dustin exhibited when he balanced on the edge of the bed amongst all the wires and tubes and cradled Steve’s limp hand in his own, whispering words of encouragement too low for Hopper and Joyce to make out, only reinforced their decision to allow him a few minutes each night to sit vigil for his friend.

  
After nearly a week of no more seizures and the fever retreating somewhat, the dosages of sedative were gradually titrated down to almost nothing until Steve was able to open his eyes and lethargically scan the room before letting them fall shut again. But the serial CT scans still showed very little reduction in the inflammation. Aseptic meningitis sometimes just had to run its course if the cause was viral, the doctors had said, but they still weren’t certain that was the case. The only other option left to consider was administering a different chemotherapy drug into Steve’s spine in case the cancer was the culprit. It had the added benefit of having slightly antiviral properties.

  
“I don’t know, Hop,” Joyce chewed anxiously on a thumbnail. “I don’t know if it’s such a good idea. Is this what he would really want? I mean, Steve really didn’t want any more aggressive treatment.”

  
“I know. I _know_ , okay?” Hopper’s hands dropped down to his sides from where they had been furiously rubbing his temples. “But Steve’s in no shape to make that call right now, and is it really any different from the treatment he was already getting? They have to stick him to do the spinal tap anyway. And if it’s the wrong call – if he really doesn’t want it, he can choose to withdraw it and stop it anytime when he’s more fully awake.”

  
“Yeah, alright. Okay. You’re right,” Joyce agreed, but was still a bit unsure of the decision and wishing Steve were conscious enough to give his input.

  
The shock she felt the next morning upon being greeted by bright and alert eyes gave her a bigger jolt than she would’ve received from the caffeinated coffee she held in her hand. The initial relief left her nearly floating and weightless, but as soon as Steve opened his mouth, Joyce came crashing back down to reality like a lead balloon. “Mrs. Byers? I’m – I’m in the hospital? What happened? Am I – am I hurt?”

  
“Oh, no, sweetheart.” There was that dread-inducing, stomach-dropping formal title again. Joyce could feel the features of her face pinch together in sad dismay as she once more had to explain to Steve that he wasn’t injured, but sick. She purposely kept her answers vague and generic so as not to overwhelm him in his fragile state of mind, but when the staff began discussing how they’d be proceeding later today, there was no concealing the whole terrible truth anymore.

  
Steve had caught words like ‘treatment’ and ‘chemotherapy’ and was able to cobble the pieces together in his disordered head. The look he wore was so wounded and crestfallen, it made the mother want to cry. “They’re - they’re talking about me, aren’t they? So, it’s not just an infection, is it? I have – I have cancer?”

  
Joyce scooted forward and let her thumb trace above the line where the cannula once again rested, replacing the oxygen mask. With her other hand, she gave Steve’s forearm a supportive squeeze and did her best to cover her tears with a smile, but it just came off as more of a grimace. To be faced with that diagnosis even once – let alone the three times Steve had already been given such news - was more than anyone should have to bear. To have to tell him yet again that yes, he had cancer because he forgot - because the illness had temporarily robbed him of the ability to remember something so important just seemed twisted beyond comprehension. It was something she wouldn’t wish on her worst enemy, but Joyce was in the inescapably agonizing position of not being able to lie to him, either. Steve trusted them to look after him – especially when he was this vulnerable, and Joyce would never even _think_ about deceiving him or taking advantage of that trust. “Yes, honey. I’m so sorry.”

  
“Oh.” Steve turned his head towards the window and let that sink in for a minute before swallowing thickly and asking, “How, um – how bad is it? Am I going to die?”

  
Joyce faltered in her response, but fortunately Hopper had been listening from the hallway through the cracked door and came to her rescue. He slowly pushed it open and approached the bed, tempering his tone into one so tender and kind it served to momentarily allay Steve’s mounting panic. “Don’t you worry about that now, kid. Just get some rest so your body can be strong enough to fight off this infection and get that treatment later.”

  
Steve obeyed and shut his eyes, too worn out and foggy to do anything else.

  
“Jim,” Joyce could only utter that one tormented word, but it conveyed all the bitter heartache and sorrow bubbling up inside her. Her shoulders shook silently with repressed weeping.

  
“I know, Joyce. I know.” Hopper hugged her awkwardly from his upright position behind the chair she sat in, the determination he spoke with in opposition to the doubt reflected in his eyes. “We’re going to get him through this one. We _are_.”

  
Steve’s body may have gone fitfully offline again for the moment and his conscious mind may not have been back to fully functioning capacity just yet, but his subconscious was as active and awake as ever. It was sending his mind projections of himself on the stoop of his childhood home and then inside the living room, throat raw from yelling. The images and emotions were so vivid and real that he coughed in his sleep from the hoarseness of his perceived shouts:

  
“ _Of course, I’m_ sure, _Mother. Do you think I would just make something like this_ up?”

  
_Mrs. Harrington toyed with her herringbone gold chain, nervously twirling it around her finger. That goddamn necklace that she could never stop fiddling with. Steve had the irrational urge to rip it off her neck. “I’m sorry, Steven. Have you even gotten a second opinion? It just seems like it’s coming out of nowhere.”_

  
_“Out of nowhere? Are you kidding me right now? Do you think these are just for decoration, Mother,” Steve exclaimed incredulously while thrusting a finger at the clear tubing resting under his nose. When he received no real response, he threw up his hands and began pacing. “I’d hardly call what I’ve gone through the last_ three and a half years _‘out of nowhere’, but I guess that’s what it seems like to you because you haven’t_ been here _for any of it!”_

  
_“Steven, I will not have you taking that tone with your mother,” Mr. Harrington warned sternly. “You’re in_ our _house. The house you were so eager to move out of, may I remind you. Show some respect!”_

  
_“Respect? You want to talk about respect? That’s rich,” Steve felt the familiar burning behind his eyes, but he absolutely refused to let it go any further than that and give his father the satisfaction. “Where was my respect when I had no choice but to leave my home when I was too sick to look after myself, huh? Where was my respect when you showed up at my hospital room while I was bleeding and puking my guts out, not because you actually_ cared _, but to keep up the pretense of guilt over not matching me? Where has my goddamned respect been for my_ entire life? _I’m dying, Dad._ Dying! _And you’re both sitting here arguing with me like it’s my_ fault _.”_

  
_“Your allegations are completely unfounded, Steven. You know how busy our schedules are.” For the first time Steve could recall, his father’s air of arrogance and surety wavered. “It’s very difficult to change. If we could go back…”_

  
_“Save it! I’ve heard it all before. It’s too late, anyway and it doesn’t matter to me anymore. I didn’t come here expecting any_ sympathy _or_ compassion _. I stopped believing you were capable of those things around the same time I stopped believing in Santa Claus,” Steve ground out and clenched his fists. “I only came here because I’m writing a will and need to account for all my assets. I just need_ information _. Nothing more.”_

  
_His son’s venomous and no-nonsense words stunned the elder male Harrington into silence. He disappeared into the office off the living space and reemerged with several files, donning his glasses. “I believe you’ll find everything you requested in here. Is there anything else we can do for you?”_

  
_Steve pursed his lips, not bothering to acknowledge that his father had spoken to him as coldly and calculated as if he were a business competitor. Nothing more. Steve pondered his father’s perfunctory question. His gut reaction had been to decline, but he had one more important thing to add: “Yeah. Legally, I know I’d have the upper hand, but I also know if you wanted to contest the will, you could throw months or years of red tape into the mix. If you’ve ever loved me -_ at all - don’t _. Have the decency to at least honor my last wishes.”_

  
_“Of course, we love you, Steven. How could you say something like that,” Mrs. Harrington had the gall to look stricken at the insinuation._

  
_Steve inched towards the door, letting his hand come to rest on the doorknob. He had accomplished what he had set out to do. It was past time to move on from this part of his life once and for all. “Well, you sure have a funny way of showing it.”_

  
_The woman cowed under her son’s accusatory glare. “Maybe we haven’t been the best at showing it, but – but…we do love you, Steven. If you’d like, maybe we could come visit you?”_

  
_“You_ could, _but you won’t,” Steve scoffed, calling her out on an empty promise he had heard before. And with that, Steve exited out the door and slammed it behind him._

  
Steve awoke from his dream that really wasn’t a dream at all, but a memory he had lived through once. The obscure mental cloudiness he had been wading through for the past week was gradually lifting and being replaced with aching clarity. Hopper and Joyce sat at Steve’s bedside, regarding him warily, uncertain what to say that wouldn’t further upset him in his presumed confused and lost state. Steve simultaneously eased their minds and broke their hearts for the millionth time when he turned to them and made his declaration. “I know it’s really bad. I remember now. I’m dying.”

  
Whether it was simply time or the additional treatment that resolved Steve’s latest infirmity was uncertain, but he was able to return home the following week after his memories were fully restored. The doctors didn’t believe the seizures would recur, but he was sent home on preventative medications as a precaution. That was only one of the multitude of reasons Joyce was fretting over leaving town.

  
Jonathan was graduating, and although Steve was originally supposed to accompany herself, Will, Hopper, and El, he was unable to travel now. “I can’t – I can’t just leave him, Hop.”

  
“Joyce. Joyce! Get ahold of yourself. Your son is _graduating college!_ You have to go. It’s only for two days, and Robin’s going to be with Steve the whole time. And you know Dustin’s not going to leave his side, either. Between the two of them, they got it covered, okay,” Hopper attempted to calm her. “If I didn’t think he’d really be alright, _I’d_ stay home. But you’re not going to miss this.”

  
Steve overheard the exchange and shuffled sluggishly and unstably down the hall, using the wall as a crutch. He leaned heavily on the corner that marked the entrance to the living room, attempting to add his own reassurances. “I’ll be fine. I promise.”

  
Joyce shot up from her seat at the kitchen table. “Oh, Steve. Honey. You shouldn’t be out of bed so soon…”

  
“Look, if it makes you feel better, I promise not to leave my bed except to go to the bathroom. Just go have fun and tell Jonathan I’m sorry I couldn’t make it and congratulations from me.” Steve let himself be shuttled back to his bedroom, abhorring how his persistent weakness made his vow to Joyce more necessary than precautionary. “Never mind. I’ll tell him myself when you all get back.”

  
Together, they all managed to get Joyce on that plane with only a minimal amount of duress. Joyce knew everyone else was right and she _wanted_ to go, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t eaten up with guilt over leaving Steve. She took great pains to school her expression and to try to smooth out the worry lines that seemed to be permanently etched between her brows nowadays, but Jonathan still noticed.

  
“I’m sorry. This is – this is _your_ day,” Joyce patted him on the chest, feeling the silky gown beneath her fingers. She beamed at him. “I just want it to be perfect for you. I’m so _proud_ of you!”

  
“I know, Mom. It is. You worrying about Steve doesn’t make it any less perfect. I worry about him, too, you know.” Jonathan was as understanding and perceptive as always. “It’ll be good to get home tomorrow and see him for myself, but in the meantime, I know Robin’s got it handled.”

  
Robin had a way of bossing Steve around that was simultaneously endearing and irritating as hell. He never should have mentioned to her his promise to Joyce that he’d stay in bed the whole time because Robin was forcing him to adhere to it. “I’m serious, dingus. Just park your butt back on that mattress and I’ll figure out dinner for us before your little sidekick gets here. What do you feel like?”

  
Steve shrugged. Truthfully, nothing was ever that appealing anymore and most nights he could only eat a few bites before he became too tired or nauseous or uncomfortable to finish. “Whatever’s fine.”

  
“C’mon, don’t make me choose,” Robin uncharacteristically whined a little. “I want you to be able to eat something, too. So, pizza? Burgers? Chinese? What sounds good?”

  
“Chinese, I guess. There’s enough variety that if something isn’t setting well, I can try something else. Just please don’t make me use chopsticks,” Steve added as an afterthought. “I’m not coordinated enough to use them anymore.”

  
“Deal,” Robin chuckled lightly at the self-effacement before grabbing the phone and placing their order.

  
When the food arrived, Steve started to get up again, but Robin stopped him. “Oh no, you don’t. Just stay put like a good little patient. You’ve heard of breakfast in bed? Well, get ready for dinner in bed with a movie and a lesbian.”

  
Steve groaned good-naturedly at both the directive and the bad joke, but submitted as a tray was balanced over his legs with all the food piled up on top. Now that it was in front of him, the smell was overpowering and suddenly repellant. Steve did his best to ignore it as Robin got the movie playing and flopped onto the bed next to him, grabbing her own carton of food and digging in. He fought with the fork and was only able to manage a few meager bites before he gave up, deciding he was done. Or more like his body was deciding for him.

  
Robin swallowed her bite of chow mein. “What’s wrong?”

  
“Nothing. Sorry. I’m just not that hungry, I guess,” Steve said wearily, letting his hands fold limply overtop his abdomen.

  
“C’mon, Steve. I know it’s not that simple for you. What’s really wrong?” Robin set her container of food on the nightstand. “Do you need some medicine? Are you hurting?”

  
“Always, but I really don’t want anything right now. Thanks though. It’s been taking the full dose lately to even make a dent. It - it just knocks me out more than anything, and I’m already…I’m just so _exhausted_ , Rob. Like, _all the time_ ,” Steve confessed. “We haven’t hung out just the two of us in, like, forever and I don’t want to just fall asleep on you. I hate that I’ve already wrecked your Saturday night by needing you to babysit me and now I’ve ruined dinner on top of it. Let’s at least finish the movie, so I don’t ruin that, too.”

  
“Stop saying that, dingus. You haven’t _ruined_ anything. Steve…really…it’s okay. I’m a big girl and can entertain myself. If you need something…or need to rest…Please…,” Robin’s soft words and expression were almost painfully sympathetic as she removed the tray of food from in front of him that he had discreetly nudged away and then fluffed the pillows behind his head. “The movie can wait.”

  
Despite her reassurances, Steve still seemed unconvinced and the discouragement rolled off of him in waves. Those feelings were only magnified when he tried, and failed, to shift around in the bed.

  
Steve _had_ said he was tired, but the large amount of difficulty he had with that simple action led Robin to believe it went a little deeper than that. Her sympathy was rapidly transforming into pity. She knew Steve detested that and Robin scrambled to cover up that sentiment with any flimsy witticism that flew into her head. “Chinese was a smart choice on your part because you wanna know what the best thing about Chinese food is? It makes a _great_ midnight snack. And a midnight refrigerator raid is totally an essential activity on the must-do friend sleepover list. But, last time I checked it was definitely _not_ part of the babysitter’s guide to the galaxy since all babies that are being sat should be tucked tightly into their beds by midnight. As the actual _king of the babysitters_ himself, I’m surprised you don’t know this.”

  
“’King of the babysitters’, huh? Is that an official title now?”

  
“Very official. Comes with a crown and everything, your highness,” Robin deadpanned. “And since we _will_ be heating some of this up later to feed that rockin’ body of yours, that definitely qualifies as sleepover material. _Ergo_ , I am certainly _not_ babysitting your royal ass. It’s just a normal Saturday night in with a friend. And, by the way, don’t sell yourself so short. You’re like, the hottest date I’ve had on a Saturday night in like, well…forever.”

  
“Now that’s…that’s truly pathetic if I’m your best option. Maybe you should have spent more time on your game instead of working that lame job,” Steve joked.

  
“Did you not hear me when I complimented your rockin’ body,” Robin retorted.

  
“Yeah, right. You could be out with the girl of your dreams right now instead of being stuck here with me. Bet you regret the minute I ever walked into Scoops.” Steve was still laughing, but there was more than a grain of truth to it. If he’d never applied for that job, then he never would have met Robin and she wouldn’t have been forced to be subjected to this entire nightmare.

  
“Game? Really? Coming from the guy that has none? And there’s lots of things to regret about that job, alright, but _you_ are not one of them.” Steve huffed skeptically. “What? I’m serious. I regret that _stupid_ uniform. I regret every free sample I had to give out to some ungrateful brat. I regret the scars I still have on my knuckles from that miniature freezer. But you? You were the best thing about that damn job.” Robin drew her knee up onto the bed and propped her head on it, regarding Steve with a fond expression. “In fact, meeting you may have been one of the best things that’s ever happened to me.”

  
“Yeah, right,” Steve scoffed in disbelief. “Because I’ve just added so much to your life? Please!”

  
“Yeah, you have,” Robin asserted.

  
“Like what? A bunch of grief and a front row seat to this…shitshow? Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad I know you, but I’m getting way more out of this friendship than you are. Pretty much since the moment you met me, all I’ve done is drag you down into this… _mess_.” Steve had always been overly critical of himself and had trouble seeing his value to others beyond his finances, but over time that had dissipated somewhat. Now that tendency was back to smack him in the face with a vengeance. “You should be finishing your first year of college right now, not playing nursemaid to your sick friend all the time. How can you _not_ regret that? I’m _holding you back_.”

  
“Hey, no one’s holding me back from anything, okay? And boy, you really are dense, you know that,” Robin stared at him in wonderment. “The only regret I have about this whole thing is how much pain and sickness and downright… _misery_ you’ve had to go through to end up here. But I will never, _never – not for one second_ \- regret meeting you. Do you hear me?” Steve rolled his eyes and attempted to turn his head away from her. “Look at me, Steve. _Look at me!_ My life is so much better right now _because_ of you.”

  
Steve reluctantly pulled his gaze back to hold hers, sighing as she pressed a hand into his cheek. “How do you figure that?”

  
“Are you kidding? How do I _not_ figure that? Steve…from the minute you decided to let me into your hospital room and had enough courage to stop hiding behind that pretty and perfect mask of yours that you show to most of the world…When you finally dropped the front and let someone you didn’t really know all that well see you… _really see you_ …as sick as you were and with everything you had to deal with every day…You were fearless and I – I _wasn’t_ , but I wanted to be. Soooo, after that day I decided I didn’t want to hide anymore, either.” Robin stretched out next to Steve, resting her face only inches from his in the crook of her arm. “I had wanted to be seen for who I really am for so long, but I never really believed it would ever happen. It was you that made that possible, after nearly fainting on me first, by the way. You not only _saw me_ , but _accepted me_.”

  
Steve opened his mouth, presumably to give a rebuttal, but Robin placed a finger to his lips to prevent it. “But wait, I’m not done yet. There’s more. Thanks to you I got to know this amazing group of kids that don’t really fit in anywhere, but that’s okay because neither do I. Somehow, we all just fit _together_ and they accept me for who I really am, too. There’s a whole section of my life now where I can just be _myself_ , and I never thought I’d have that. It’s the best feeling in the world.”

  
“You’re right. They are some pretty spectacular kids. And you deserve all of that, Robin,” Steve told her sincerely. “Everyone does.”

  
“Yeah, but not everyone _gets_ it,” Robin said solemnly. “Hopefully, what you did for me, I was able to pay it forward a little.”

  
Steve was fairly confident she was referring to Will, but he knew that the teen wasn’t ready to open up just yet and purposefully kept his response nonspecific. “You did.”

  
“Good.” Robin was intuitive enough to gather his meaning, but also smart enough not to push it any further. “You know, I used to think the universe just threw random events and people at us without any sense of order, but now…I’m not so sure. Maybe our paths crossing wasn’t an accident. Like it was _supposed_ to happen when it did. That there was a _reason_ for it.”

  
“Are you going philosophical on me, Buckley,” Steve lightly teased, but when he realized how serious she was, he immediately ceased. “What makes you say that?”

  
Robin took a deep breath. “I came out to my family last night. If I hadn’t met you, and then the kids, I don’t know that I would’ve done that – ever.”

  
“I think you’re giving me and the kids too much credit – and yourself not enough.” Steve wrapped the arm around her that had been resting behind his head. “How’d it go, anyway?”

  
“Fine. Relatively. I mean, I can’t say they’re _thrilled_ , but they didn’t implode or anything.” Robin entwined her fingers with Steve’s. “They’re _trying_ , and I guess that counts for something. Right?”

  
“Yeah. I think it definitely does,” Steve agreed before falling silent, trying to imagine what it would be like to have parents that even made an effort to understand him. He would never experience that level of support from them, but what he did have was an entire group of people who had offered him that and so much more. A group of people who were seemingly thrown together by a series of haphazard events. But maybe there was something to Robin’s theory and it wasn’t all just coincidence.

  
Robin had picked up on Steve’s sudden contemplative mood. “Penny for your thoughts?”

  
“So, do you really think everything happens for a reason?”

  
Robin paused, then nodded. “Yeah, maybe.”

  
“Hmmm,” Steve hummed. “So, then what do you think was the reason I got sick?”

  
Steve’s question had caught Robin off guard and an overwhelming stinging sensation burned behind her eyes at the heartbreaking implications. Steve wasn’t quite asking, ‘why did this happen to me?’, but close enough. Silence stretched between them while Robin desperately sought the answer that Steve deserved, but all she could come up with was an unsatisfactory, “I don’t know. I wish I did.”

  
Robin closed her lids against her fumbling inadequacy in solving one of life’s most enormous enigmas for her friend and was unsurprised when a few drops ran down her cheeks. This was a riddle that maybe would never have a clear solution, and it wasn’t fair to Steve that he couldn’t even assign any _meaning_ to his endless suffering. It was nothing but senseless. The best she could do was meekly retract her earlier declaration. “Maybe - maybe there really _isn’t_ a good reason for everything.”

  
“In the beginning, I used to think it was my punishment for being such an… _asshole_ in high school,” Steve admitted. A protest began in the back of Robin’s throat, but Steve quickly hushed her. “No, I was. But…I don’t think that anymore. Sometimes, I think, bad things just happen and…we don’t ever get to know the reason why. Maybe there’s not even one. But I do know this…I used to feel like I was alone. Hell, I _was_ alone. I don’t feel that way anymore.”

  
“You’re not alone,” Robin agreed emphatically. “You _won’t be_ ever again.”

  
“I know and that means a lot, believe me. Thank you,” Steve hugged her with both of his arms now. “I just wish it didn’t take something like this to make me realize that, though.”

  
“Me too,” Robin whispered sadly.

  
Steve’s fatigue eventually pulled them both under after such an emotionally charged conversation and they were both able to indulge in a quick nap before Dustin arrived. His buoyant spirit filled the house and erased any trace of the sober mood from before as he animatedly speculated about Prom next weekend.

  
The young adults almost had whiplash by the time Dustin had run out of steam. He had bounced around from one subject to another like a rubber ball: the music, the decorations, pictures, dinner, transportation, picking up his tux, what to do with his hair, and how he was ever going to learn to tie a real bowtie in under a week.

  
Little did Dustin know, Steve had a couple of those things covered already. Prior to dinner, Jonathan would have the kids pose for a series of photos at the Byers’ before he had to leave himself to set up his equipment in the gym to snap pictures during the dance. It was something Jonathan had been paid to do previously and was happy to do again. The added bonus was that he would get to see Will and his friends enjoy themselves which was also one of the reasons Nancy had volunteered to chaperone.

  
Nancy was helping the girls – and to some extent, Mike – get ready at the Wheeler’s. Jonathan was in the other room with Will, and Dustin was in Steve’s room practically vibrating with nervous energy. Steve kept slapping the younger boy’s hands away from where the bowtie had slipped from his grasp yet again. “Dustin, stop! I’m trying to help you, dipshit. I’m having enough trouble holding onto it as it is.”

  
“Sorry, Steve,” Dustin lisped, temporarily stilling his squirming at Steve’s behest. Steve flexed his fingers and got ready to start over, but observing the struggles his clumsy digits were posing, Dustin gently restrained his friend’s hands. “How about you just walk me through it? I should learn how to do it myself, anyway.”

  
Steve averted his eyes in poorly disguised embarrassment and let out a resigned sigh, conceding. He stood behind Dustin and patiently mimed the motions until Dustin cinched the bow tight. “Hey, I did it!”

  
“Yeah, you did, buddy.” Steve adjusted the black bowtie and then took Dustin by the shoulders, regarding him with just a hint of pride. “You look great, okay? You look great. Like a million bucks. You’re gonna slay ‘em dead.”

  
“Right. Slay ‘em dead,” Dustin repeated as he hugged Steve so hard, the older boy rocked back from the force. “Thanks, Steve!”

  
“You bet.” A door banging against the wall and the following cacophony of excited chatter broke the momentary spell cast upon the room. “Sounds like everyone’s here. Help me out to the living room?”

  
After profusely complimenting and fussing over all the kids, Steve took a seat on the sofa to watch Jonathan in his element, positioning the kids this way and that against the backdrop. Steve kept stealing glances at the clock situated right above Hopper and Joyce’s heads where they sat at the kitchen table, eagerly awaiting a honk signifying that the kids’ transportation for the night had arrived. Thankfully, the car was right on time and the group crowded around the doorway and windows with curiosity.

  
“Whoa! A limo,” Will’s entire face lit up upon the appearance of the sleek, black elongated vehicle.

  
“So rad,” Max added.

  
“Wh- How,” Mike spluttered.

  
“Well, don’t keep your ride for the evening waiting. Surprise!” Steve crossed his arms and smirked as six pairs of eyes stared at him, dumbfounded. “Go have fun guys.”

  
“This is so cool! I’ve never ridden in a limo before,” Lucas’ words tumbled out of his mouth with excitement. “Thanks, Steve!”

  
All the kids turned to Steve and started talking all at once in appreciation. He merely waved and shooed them out the door. By the time the group had grabbed their belongings and finished saying their ‘thank yous’ and ‘goodbyes’, the living room resembled a field that a tornado had torn through. Dustin had lagged behind a bit to express his gratitude and give Steve one last hug goodbye. “You’re really awesome, you know that?”

  
Steve craned his neck to make sure Hopper and Joyce were out of sight and that Jonathan and Nancy were otherwise occupied. He dug in his pocket and slapped the contents into Dustin’s open palm. “Just…take that, alright? Just in case.”

  
Dustin felt what was in his hand, but hadn’t looked yet. His neurons and receptors were firing, but hadn’t quite made the connection yet. “What’s this?”

  
“It should cover dinner and…anything that comes after,” Steve really hoped Dustin could temper his reaction because Hopper might have a coronary if he ever found out. He scratched the back of his neck anxiously, waiting for Dustin to put two and two together.

  
Dustin unfurled his fingers to discover a wad of money and several square foil packages. “What the fuck, Steve?” Steve hurriedly shushed him, and Dustin dropped his voice to barely above a whisper. At least for him. “I don’t even have a girlfriend right now. Just what in the hell do you think is going to happen?”

  
“It’s Prom. Things happen, and I just want you all to be _safe_ , okay? Just don’t tell Hopper because he’ll kill me.” Steve gave a quick sideways glance to the police officer and was relieved to see him still engrossed in whatever he was doing with Joyce.

  
“Jesus Christ, Steve! You’re unbelievable, you know that?” Dustin shoved the contraband into the pocket of his tux and when he raised his head again, the twinkle in his eyes was unmistakable. Once again, Dustin’s arms wrapped tightly around him. There were so many things Dustin wanted to say, but really, one sentence summed it up perfectly. “God, I love you, Steve.”

  
It was a sentiment that Steve had heard on many occasions from Dustin, Hopper, and all the others in the recent past, but it still knocked him off kilter sometimes after being deprived of it for the first eighteen years of his life. Brief flashes of his parents regarding him coldly throughout his childhood, and then he and Nancy outside the gym during an ill-fated basketball practice flitted through his mind before he could stop them. Having that phrase hanging heavily in the air, twisting around in isolation, without anyone willing to claim that earnestly offered golden ring and reciprocate was a hurt so deep that Steve never wanted anyone he cared about to ever feel that same pain. So, he always – _always_ – made sure to say it back when he could finally find his voice. “I love you, too, Dusty.”

  
The goofy smile was still plastered to his lips long after the limo had disappeared into the twilight. Nancy broke him out of his reverie as she settled down next to him. “It was a really nice thing you did for the kids today. You really are full of surprises, Steve Harrington.”

  
Steve blushed a little at the praise and studied his hands without responding.

  
“But we’ve got a surprise of our own for you. If you’re up for it.” Nancy placed her thin hand overtop Steve’s and it was difficult to ignore the sparkling diamond encircling her ring finger. “Steve Harrington…Will you go to Prom with me?”

  
Before Steve could even react, an incessant pounding on the door interrupted his train of thought. Jonathan opened it to reveal a mischievously grinning Robin who was almost swallowed up by yards of ruffled, puffy peach taffeta. “What the hell are you wearing?”

  
“I know, right. It’s totally hideous. But if we’re gonna do this, why not do it with some flair? Look,” Robin stuck her foot out to show off her peach-colored Converse. “I even color coordinated the shoes to make it extra repulsive. Whaddya think, Jonny boy? Still wanna take me as your ‘date’?”

  
“Oh, for sure,” Jonathan laughed. “How could I refuse…all this?”

  
Steve scrunched up his face, perplexed. “So, wait…Are you telling me that you’re crashing the kids’ Prom?”

  
Nancy shrugged her shoulders. “Well…technically…no. Jonathan and I are supposed to be there and we each get a plus-one, so…Wanna be my date?”

  
“And before you say you have nothing to wear, I found the tux in the back of your closet,” Robin pointed a finger at him. “That’s right, I rifled through your closet last weekend, so sue me. What person our age _owns a tux?"_

  
Steve was at a loss for words. His mouth gaped open stupidly as his eyebrows arched over wide eyes. Jonathan took the opportunity of Steve’s astonishment to display his wry sense of humor. “Or, if you don’t want to go as Nancy’s date you could always go as _mine_.”

  
The laugh that rang out at Jonathan’s humor came from deep within his belly. Steve had no valid argument to present and besides, he was pretty curious as to where this would lead. He allowed Jonathan to help him get ready. It was always such a production to get him out of the house anymore, but in the end Steve knew it would be worth it and he was actually looking forward to it, even if it were only for an hour or two. He just hoped the kids didn’t think it was weird or creepy.

  
They had packed up all the supplies Steve might possibly require for the duration of the evening and split into two cars because he would likely need to leave before the night was through. Steve rode with Jonathan initially. The beat of Howard Jones’ ‘Everlasting Love’ thumped out of the auditorium as Jonathan parked and removed the wheelchair from the trunk. Steve expressed his lingering trepidation. “Won’t the kids think we’re spying on them?”

  
“Nah,” Jonathan denied as he steadied Steve getting out of the passenger seat and down into the chair. “They know. The fact that you’re here means that Hopper isn’t currently circling the parking lot waiting to swoop in if Mike’s face gets within two inches of El’s, so they’re cool with it. They definitely prefer you to Hopper.”

  
Jonathan’s explanation was rational, but Steve suddenly felt more and more self-conscious as he was wheeled into the darkened and decorated auditorium. They were a bunch of twenty-something-year-olds at a dance for a high school that none of them attended anymore. Sure, Jonathan and Nancy had a plausible reason to be here, but he felt like an imposter. A lot had changed in those years since graduation and Steve wasn’t so sure he belonged here anymore. If he ever truly did.

  
Steve had been on top of the world and King of this domain once but oh, how far the mighty King had fallen. No matter how hard he tried to outrun them, those ghosts still caught up to him from time to time and reminded him of all the things that had vanished so easily into thin air. Things he no longer was or ever pretended to be. Not that that was necessarily a bad thing. Steve was a completely different person than he used to be with a whole new set of priorities, and he liked who he had become despite the circumstances. It was one of the few things left he had to be proud of.

  
Another source of pride was the pack of teenagers that had left their spots on the dance floor to swarm him upon his arrival, begging Jonathan to take pictures of them now before they got, as Lucas put it, “all sweaty and funky.”

  
Jonathan obliged and it wasn’t really a surprise when group photos were requested – with Steve and then with everyone together. Steve stood shakily in the middle of the cloth backdrop, patiently waiting for the kids to arrange themselves with Jonathan’s help. In a last-minute decision, Steve reached up to remove the oxygen from his face. “Steve, what are you doing, man?”

  
“I’ll be alright for a few. Just take the picture.” Jonathan reluctantly took the tubing and set it to the side, hurrying to complete the task as fast as possible so he could hand the much-needed air supply back to his stubborn friend.

  
“Alright. I’m gonna go round up Nancy and Robin. Put this back on in the meantime,” Jonathan demanded to Steve, passing him the cannula.

  
Steve’s back rose and fell heavily underneath Dustin’s hand. “You alright, buddy?”

  
Steve inhaled deeply through his nose. “Yeah, of course,” he said somewhat breathlessly. “Just keep holding on to me, though.”

  
“Always.”

  
The girls joined the rest of them, and once again, Steve tossed the oxygen to the side. Jonathan utilized the timer to get a nice photo of all of them smiling brightly, but then Max and Robin conspired to convince the group to pose for some less serious pictures.

  
They made sillier and sillier faces at the camera until Robin collapsed into a peach puddle on the floor from her fit of giggles. Jonathan ultimately tripped over and sprawled across the abundant material which Nancy and Will smiled at, but simultaneously looked guilty for doing so. Max and El kissed Mike on each cheek who looked one part lovestruck and one part disgusted while Lucas’ mouth formed a chagrined ‘o’. Dustin’s eyes were scrunched to slits and his lips split wide open with mirth. He was facing Steve as if he were saying to him, ‘get a load of these guys’. Steve had cast a knowing sideways glance to Dustin as if, he too, were in on the joke. Steve’s head was tilted back, his throat fully exposed to the camera and showing off a row of his perfectly straight, white teeth in a fashion that could only be the result of completely carefree and unfettered laughter.

  
The sheer joy captured in that candid moment was one that would hang displayed in a frame on the walls of all their houses for years to come. It was a fond memory they were immensely glad they had to hold onto to drive away some of the comparatively dark recollections of the days soon to follow.

  
After the pictures were finished, Steve panted at the kids to get back out there and enjoy themselves. The last thing he wanted was for them to worry about him all night. Robin promised to sit with Steve for a bit while he regained his breath, not talking for his sake and just listening to the music. Once the wheeze in Steve’s chest tapered off to something a little less strained and a lot more rhythmic, she went to relieve Nancy from punch duty.

  
Nancy sauntered over in Robin’s absence and sat at the table next to him as Poison filtered through the speakers. She tucked her hands under her knees, smoothing down her skirt and suddenly nervous for some reason. “Good song, right? Brings back memories being here, doesn’t it? Junior Prom?”

  
Steve hummed noncommittally. That was a long time ago, and obviously they had both moved on well enough to get past the awkward ‘ex’ phase and back into a place where they could exist as friends. He wasn’t upset with Nancy anymore and hadn’t pined over her in ages, but it wasn’t something he really wished to rehash, either, although Nancy seemed determined to.

  
“I really – I just – I really wish we could have made it long enough to go to Senior Prom together.” Nancy chewed on her perfectly glossed lip. “But I – I ruined that for both of us.”

  
“You can’t put all that on yourself. It wasn’t just you. There’s lots of things I wish I’d done – _said_ – differently…,” Steve trailed off, tracing the rim of his water glass.

  
_I know I could have saved a love that night_  
_If I'd known what to say_  
_Instead of makin' love_  
_We both made our separate ways_

  
Nancy stilled his hand with a touch to his wrist. “No, Steve. You never did anything _wrong_. I just - I was so consumed by guilt over Barb that I couldn’t let myself feel anything else. I didn’t know how. But that was never your fault, even if I acted like it was. I just couldn’t face the fact that a lot of the responsibility for that night fell on me. And instead of dealing with it, I covered it up by throwing myself into finding out the truth. Getting _justice_. Like it could’ve actually made a difference. Jonathan and I…we had a common goal and things…happened that shouldn’t have, but we were _obsessed_. It was _unhealthy_ and you tried so hard to make me see that, but I wouldn’t listen. I wanted someone to blame that wasn’t myself, so I lashed out at anyone who got in the way of that. At you. But it was never you.”

  
_You! You’re bullshit!_

  
_But now I hear you found somebody new_  
_And that I never meant that much to you_  
_To hear that tears me up inside_  
_And to see you cuts me like a knife I guess_

  
“Nance…we’ve been over this. It’s water under the bridge.” It was the only thing Steve could say because, really, what else was he supposed to? None of this was exactly Earth-shattering information.

  
“No, Steve. Sure, we’ve danced around it, but there’s a couple of things I’ve never said to you that I should have.” Nancy clutched his hands that were loosely splayed on the table. They were much cooler and more delicate than she remembered, but just as soft. Like butterfly wings that if she pressed too hard, would disintegrate right in her grasp. “I’m sorry. I’m truly _sorry_ for the way I treated you. The things I _said_ _and did_. Especially at the Halloween party and…after. That was – that was the only time I ever lied to you, but it was what did all the damage. It _wasn’t_ bullshit. _You_ weren’t. I really was in love with you.”

  
“Was.” Steve’s lips twitched over the word that was far more a statement than a question.

  
_Every rose has its thorn_  
_Just like every night has its dawn_  
_Just like every cowboy sings his sad, sad song_  
_Every rose has its thorn_

  
“Yeah. Was. But I need you to know that what we had was real. It wasn’t bullshit. There was a time when I was absolutely, head over heels, hopelessly in love with you. And I was so lucky to have been loved back by you. You were my first… _everything_.” Nancy caressed his cheek and Steve couldn’t help but unconsciously lean into her touch out of residual habit. “You are so special to me, Steve Harrington. And I will _always_ love you. I swear to you, I will. Til my last breath.”

  
Steve chuffed out a watery laugh as he let his forehead come to rest against Nancy’s. At first, he hadn’t wanted to travel back down this particular road, but he hadn’t known that he had needed to hear those words so badly until she had just uttered them. To know that what they had really meant the same something to her once as it had to him. That he wasn’t just… _bullshit_. “Maybe – maybe just until mine.”

  
“Oh, Steve,” Nancy gasped out sorrowfully, the very thought of his imminent demise sending the tears cascading down her cheeks as one song ended and the strains of another slow ballad began. Their bodies had molded perfectly to one another once upon a time, and Nancy longed to feel that closeness again before it became too late – not in a sexual way, but as proof of Steve’s presence. He was here now, alive. Solid flesh and blood. Corporeal, instead of the images and fond memories in her head that would soon be all she had left of him. “Dance with me. One last time for old time’s sake.”

  
“Nance, we’ll get tangled…I…and I really can’t…” Any trace of arrogance Steve had ever possessed had long since vanished, likely lost in the debris and ash of the Upside Down. The man that emerged was a lot less sure of himself, and a lot more vulnerable.

  
“It’ll be alright. Just hold onto me and don’t let go. _Please_ ,” Nancy pleaded, gently tugging him into a standing position and brushing the oxygen tubing behind his shoulder so she wouldn’t crush it as she pressed close to him. “I’ve really missed this.”

  
_I've got a picture of your house_  
_And you're standing by the door._  
_It's black and white and faded,_  
_And it's looking pretty worn_

  
Steve tensed and clung tightly to her as they swayed, barely shuffling and picking up their feet. Every time his balance faltered and he wobbled, she renewed her steadying embrace. Steve eventually relaxed and rested his chin atop her head, and it was amazing how well they really did still fit into one another after all this time, like a well-worn glove. “Me too.”

  
_The memories are gray but man they're really coming back_

  
_I don't need to be the king of the world_  
_As long as I'm the hero of this little girl_

  
Steve found himself getting more emotional than he wanted to be. It wasn’t just the memories, but the implications of what they were doing. Neither one of them had ever really gotten closure with everything going on, and it had never really seemed important in the aftermath. But now, with the evidence of Steve’s limited days piling up against them, Nancy had wanted to relieve him of the burden that such unfinished business could incur by saying all the things she should have told him – had always _meant_ to tell him if other more pressing matters hadn’t gotten in the way and she hadn’t been so _ashamed_ of herself.

  
It was almost more than Steve could handle, so he masked it with what he hoped was an amusing anecdote. “I actually kinda like this song. The kids make fun of me, though. Your brother says I’m being too predictable listening to something labeled as ‘hair metal’. Not that any of them have been an authority on what is cool, like ever, but I don’t know. Maybe they have a point. What do you think?”

  
“I think – I think Mike can be a pain in the ass and you should be free to like what you like.” Nancy laughed at first, but then felt Steve’s Adam’s apple bob up and down several times in quick succession as he swallowed thickly. “What is it, Steve?”

  
_Heaven isn't too far away_  
_Closer to it everyday_

  
“It’s – it’s nothing,” Steve stammered out, his previous attempt at distraction poorly concealing just how close to the brink of breaking down he was. Nancy’s apology, her sweet affection, the lyrics to a song hitting far too close to home to his liking – on today of all days – was stripping his defenses and threatening to send him freefalling over the edge.

  
“It’s not nothing,” Nancy whispered into the starched white shirt that rustled with each quiver under her arms. She could hear Steve’s heart hammering against her ear. “What’s the matter?”

  
_Now the lights are going out,_  
_Along the boulevard_  
_Memories come rushing back and makes it pretty hard_

  
“Today’s been good. Great, actually. But a lot to process,” Steve confessed, sighing forlornly into her hair and struggling to order and put into words his racing thoughts without losing control of his voice. It still cracked despite his monumental effort. “You know how the doctors gave me six months, at best? Well, that was six months ago…today. They thought I’d be dead by now, but I’m not and I can’t figure out how that is or why. But I am pretty sure that from here on out, I’m on borrowed time.”

  
“Oh, God. Steve…”

  
_I don't know what to do_  
_But I'm never giving up on you_

  
“And I didn’t know how important it was for me to hear those things you said to me tonight, but it was. So, thank you.” Steve squeezed her firmly. “And I hope you know that I love you, too and I just want you to be happy. Always have.”

  
_Heaven isn't too far away_  
_Closer to it every day_  
_No matter what your friends might say_  
_We'll find our way_

  
Nancy squeezed back. “It was way overdue. And I never, not even for one second, ever doubted that. You’ve always had the biggest heart, Steve Harrington, and I’m honored that you chose to share it with me. With all of us.”

  
Nancy stayed over at the Byers’ with Jonathan more and more often after that night. And as school let out for the summer, most of the kids – minus El sometimes – had set up camp there, also. No one said it explicitly, but they all were compelled to be in as close proximity to Steve as possible for however many days he had left.

  
Joyce was extremely generous and patient for instituting such an understanding open door policy in her home for whoever wished to stay to be near Steve. Steve knew it was on his behalf and he appreciated all of it. He really did, but there were moments when all the fussing and all the people under one roof for days on end made him claustrophobic. Sometimes the only solitude he could garner was in the dead of night when the pain forced sleep just out of his reach.

  
Even then, someone would invariably peek their head in to check on him in the wee hours. Steve came to expect it, even and this very early morning was no different. Dustin crept in. For someone that was normally so loud and boisterous, he could be strangely quiet when he wanted to be. “Steve? You’re up. What’s wrong? Pain keeping you up?”

  
“No, not particularly. Just restless, I guess. You,” Steve inquired.

  
“Bathroom,” Dustin pointed over his shoulder to which Steve nodded absently. “Well, I’ll let you try and sleep.”

  
“Hey, Dusty! Wait,” Steve came to an impulsive decision. “Whaddaya say we get out of here for a bit? Take me on a drive?”

  
“What? Now? It’s like four in the morning,” Dustin frowned in puzzlement.

  
“Yeah, you’re right. Was just feeling a bit cooped up, but bad idea. Never mind,” Steve fought to obscure his disappointment, but Dustin was too perceptive to let it pass.

  
“No, no. It’s fine.” Dustin still wore that same look of bewilderment. “Should I go get dressed, or…?”

  
“No. Just grab our jackets and shoes. And maybe a pillow. But go to the bathroom first. Nothing’s open at this hour, and I’d hate to be responsible for you pulling over on the side of the road and getting poison ivy or something,” Steve grinned at Dustin’s horrified expression. “Go on. I’ll leave a note.”

  
Dustin thought the whole thing was pretty weird, but there wasn’t anything that Steve could ask of him that he wouldn’t do for him. So, he dutifully helped his friend walk out to his car. Steve’s debility was so pronounced now that a good fifteen minutes elapsed before Dustin was able to deposit him in the passenger seat.

  
Dustin rested his hands on the cool leather of the steering wheel. “Where to, Steve?”

  
Steve gave vague directions as Dustin drove, rolling down the window and feeling the balmy wind lap his face and blow through his hair. He stuck his arm out and twisted his wrist lazily against the current, just relishing in the heady scent of the fresh air and the lulling hush of the empty roads. They had purposefully taken the long route, but eventually the pavement gave way to loose gravel as they neared Steve’s intended destination. The BMW crested the steep hill, and Steve instructed his younger friend to park it facing the quarry.

  
“Grab the pillows. Toss them on the hood and help me out?” Steve didn’t wait for a response before unclicking his seatbelt and pulling on the door handle.

  
Dustin shut off the engine and did as he was told, though he was still no less confused than before as he aided Steve in sitting atop the hood and swinging his legs up onto the warm metal. Reclining against the windshield with his long limbs stretched out before him, Steve stuffed a pillow behind his head and beckoned Dustin to do the same.

  
“So, what exactly are we doing here, Steve,” Dustin wondered.

  
“I used to come up here all the time when I couldn’t sleep, you know, after…everything. Kinda missed it. Can’t beat the view,” Steve shrugged, as if that should explain everything.

  
“Yeah,” Dustin quietly prompted, studying his friend in profile. The sun had yet to begin its ascent in the sky and Steve’s sharp, angular features were softened around the edges in the gray, pre-dawn light.

  
The pair sat absorbing the sounds of the dewy morning. The engine ticked as it cooled down, but the noise was almost drowned out by the birds’ morning songs as they awakened. Steve reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small box, thrusting it out towards Dustin. “Here. I wanted to give you something.”

  
Dustin accepted the brightly wrapped package. “What’s this?”

  
“Ideally, I was going to save it for your eighteenth birthday, but…September’s a ways away, and I don’t think…well, shit…things – things are pretty bad. This last treatment’s not…it’s – it’s time to stop, I think,” Steve stumbled over his words, reluctant to spoil what should be a happy moment, but feeling the need to explain. “Anyway, go on. Open it.”

  
Dustin’s fingers tore away the brightly wrapped paper. He divided his attention between the box in his hands and Steve’s hopeful and trepidatious expression. He removed a creased piece of paper from inside and unfolded it. “I don’t get it. It’s the title to your car?”

  
“Correction. It’s the title to _your_ car. Read closer,” Steve’s index finger pointed to the line holding Claudia’s name. “Okay, technically the car is in her name now. I had to do it that way because I wasn’t sure if your name could be on it before you turned eighteen and also because I wanted it to be a surprise. But your mom’ll get it transferred over as soon as possible so it’ll belong to you.”

  
“H-h-how,” was all Dustin could stutter out in his shock.

  
“It was easy. The car’s paid off and I made sure it was in my name and not one of my parents’. I mean, I can’t drive it anymore, but someone should. And I wanted you to be the one to have it. It’s the car you learned to drive on. And you’re like a brother to me, man. It just seemed right that it go to you. So, I talked to your mom about it and she was willing to drive down to the DMV with me and take care of transferring it over. She was so happy she cried, actually. At least, that’s what she said. I don’t know.” Much like Steve had mistaken the ‘happy tears’ that Claudia had claimed she shed, Steve misinterpreted Dustin’s silence and downcast countenance for something else. “You don’t like it? Well, we can figure something else out –“

  
“Oh my God, no! No, Steve! You think…?” Dustin was truly stunned. So many emotions and thoughts assaulted his brain all at once that Dustin couldn’t make sense of it all, let alone put them into a coherent sentence, but given the hurt and faintly guilty look on Steve’s face, he knew he had to try. “I love it! I really do!”

  
“Yeah? I sense a ‘but’ in there somewhere, though,” Steve wisely ascertained.

  
“It’s just…no one’s ever done anything this… _huge_ for me before. Or this nice. And it means so much knowing that I’ll get to hold on to a small piece of you after…after...” Dustin squinted at the lightening sky before turning back to Steve. He hesitated to divulge everything that was on his mind, but Steve was being frank with him, so Dustin figured he owed him the same courtesy. “But that’s just it. It makes me so unbelievably sad, too, at the same time. Having your car means I don’t have _you_. You won’t be here anymore, and it – it’s going to _devastate me_ when you’re gone. I’d much rather have you here than something that belonged to you. You’re like a brother to me, too. And you’re the best friend I’ve ever had, Steve. I know I have Lucas and Mike and the others, but it’s _different_ with you. I can’t explain it.”

  
“You don’t need to explain it to me because I get it. Okay? I get it and I feel the same way. I know it’s not the same, but it’s all I’ve got,” Steve slung his arm around the younger boy’s shoulders in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. “I didn’t mean for this to be a sad thing. I really didn’t.”

  
“I know you didn’t. Thank you, Steve. Really. Thank you.” Steve had chosen to pass on one of his most prized possessions to him, and instead of making Dustin feel special, it just made him even more bereft. It was yet another sign that this terrible situation was tangible and close and so very real. Dustin struggled to push aside the melancholy that dominated his soul and not dwell on it. If Steve knew the true depth of his sadness, it would only serve to hurt Steve and Dustin couldn’t stand to be the source of any more of his anguish. Dustin chose to shift his focus onto the other thing Steve had brought him up here to show him.

  
The sky was gradually transforming into a vivid watercolor, the pastel hues brightening and bleeding into one another. Pinks, purples, oranges and reds overlapped and weaved into a gorgeous tapestry. In the midst of all this tremendous pain and impending sense of loss being experienced in their little world, there was still beauty like this that existed. And maybe it was that striking contrast that made it stand out all the more. Dustin caught Steve smiling knowingly at him, as if that were what Steve had been trying to tell him all along. And Dustin suddenly understood Steve’s attraction to this particular spot and all the subtext hidden within it. “You were right. This view is pretty spectacular.”

  
“Hey, Dustin? Can I ask you something,” Steve began tentatively, the smile slipping off his face. “Do you think there’s such a thing as Heaven?”

  
“Yes,” Dustin replied immediately.

  
“I don’t want you to say that because you think that’s what I want to hear,” Steve said seriously. “I want to know what you _really_ think.”

  
Dustin pondered that for a full minute before speaking again, but his answer remained the same. “Yes, I do.”

  
“How can you sound so sure?”

  
“Well, take one of Newton’s laws for instance: for every force of nature, there’s an opposite and equal force at play,” Dustin effortlessly fell into the scientific dialect he was so at ease with, but succinctly relayed it in terms Steve would be more familiar with. “Look at it this way: If someplace as awful and horrific and terrifying as the Upside Down exists, then it stands to reason and isn’t that much of a leap to imagine there’s a place in the universe that also exists that is the total opposite of that. A place that isn’t cold and dark and full of fear, but the complete antithesis of that. Heaven would fit that description pretty aptly, dontcha think?”

  
Steve had never thought of it that way. In fact, he had never had much cause to think about it at all until the last chunk of his life. This was the first time he could ever recall science actually comforting him instead of causing him the usual headaches and major anxiety. Steve began to understand why it appealed to the kids so much, even if it was ironically during a debatably religious discussion. With that reassuring answer from someone whose opinion he trusted almost more than anyone else’s and whose intellect was far superior to his own, Steve decided to push the envelope a bit further. “Does that mean you believe in God, too?”

  
“Yeah, I mean, same reason. If Demodogs and Demogorgons and the Mind Flayer are real, why wouldn’t a benevolent being such as God be? It’s basic scientific principle: equal and opposite reaction,” Dustin stated simply as if the answers to some of life’s biggest questions were obvious. “I guess it’s impossible to know with absolute certainty without unequivocal proof, but yeah, I truly believe that. What do you think?”

  
“What do I think? I think you’re really smart and I think you helped me figure something out. That’s what I think.” Steve grabbed Dustin’s hand and squeezed as hard as his atrophying muscles would allow him to. Dustin’s open and honest assessment sparked a warm fire of calm in the pit of Steve’s stomach where before had just been a glacial void of pure panic. The icy terror coursing through his veins began to thaw just the tiniest bit, but it was enough. “Thanks, Dusty.”

  
Earlier, Steve had basically flat out told Dustin – in his own roundabout way - that the chemo that they had been shooting into his back to prolong the progression of his symptoms and buy him a little more time wasn’t working at all anymore and things were out of control. It was an exercise in futility at this juncture to continue and the time to stop any further treatment meant to extend his life in any capacity had tragically arrived. Steve had to face the brutal fact that hospice was the only meaningful option left.

  
Accepting that level of finality hadn’t come easy and as ridiculous as it would have sounded to say it out loud, that conversation gave Steve the courage to take the next steps. Steps that he had known he needed to take, but had been too scared to pull that particular trigger on up until this point, no matter how inevitable it was. Once he set those wheels in motion, it would become an irrevocable and irreversible decision that he would be unable to come back from. And it would happen sooner rather than later, whether he was able to let go of his fear or not.

  
And afraid seemed to be all Steve was capable of feeling these days, but the candid talk with Dustin had alleviated some of that burden temporarily. Enough that he could almost sign the consents ceasing all treatment and admitting himself to hospice without the pen shaking violently in his hand – almost.

  
It had been an emotional day for all of them when Hopper and Joyce had brought him to that appointment on a humid morning in mid-June. Steve had attempted to convince them to let him check himself into a facility because it was one thing to be taken care of in someone’s home, but quite another to go there to _die_. Hopper and Joyce adamantly refused to let that happen and were genuinely offended that he even suggested it.

  
Joyce insisted unyieldingly that it was just as much Steve’s home as it was theirs’, and she ‘would be goddamned if she was going to trust the care of one of her kids to fucking strangers’ when he had people that deeply loved him to look after him and tend to him in his final days. The woman was an immovable force when necessary, and Steve didn’t have that much fight left in him anyways – especially to argue against something he could admit to himself that he actually preferred. So, Steve surrendered to Joyce’s loving tenacity and broke down in sobs in her arms. Hopper held them both in his solid embrace as all three of them cried.

  
A nurse would be sent out for an introductory appointment in a couple days to assess the home and any of Steve’s potential needs that hadn’t already been addressed or anticipated. In the meantime, cognizant of how traumatic it must have been for Steve to initiate the process and just how mentally and physically shattered he was as a result, the others made themselves available but also made a point not to overcrowd or overwhelm him.

  
They took their cues from Steve. If he went quiet, they didn’t push him to talk. Whoever was nearby might grab onto his hand to ground him as his gaze drifted off into space, lost inside his own head, or offer some other form of consoling touch. If Steve wished to be alone, they intuitively vacated the room or aided him in retreating to his bedroom.

  
They held him when he could no longer suppress the urge to weep bitterly, although it was usually only around Hopper or Joyce whom he allowed himself that indulgence. Once it was Nancy who happened to be by his side when his trembling fingers didn’t have enough dexterity or power in their movements to perform something as basic as raising a glass of water up to slake his thirst. She wordlessly took the glass and tilted it to his lips for him. Afterwards, he hung his head and buried his hands in his hair, letting the tears come and mourning over the little bits of himself that were slipping away day after day. There was nothing demonstrative about it. Just silent drips of water, but even so, not around the kids if he could help it. Never around the kids.

  
When Nancy crawled into bed with Jonathan that night, she was too distraught to properly give voice to what specifically had caused the lump to lodge so firmly in her throat, but somehow he just understood. Jonathan felt Nancy arch backwards against him, unconsciously seeking his comfort as he spooned her. He sighed into her soft curls, commiserating with her sorrow because there was nothing he – or any one of them – could do to fix their friend or make him better. Just be there for him. But despite their good intentions and how many of them there were always surrounding Steve, Jonathan was soon shown just how woefully short they were still falling and how spectacularly they had failed at doing just that one simple thing.

  
A consistent, faint crackling of static by his ear woke Jonathan from a light sleep. It was difficult to make out in the darkened room, but it seemed to originate from the walkie talkie strategically placed on his nightstand. Steve had the only other one in the set. Jonathan had given it to him quite a while ago in case Steve needed something in the middle of the night, and he had made a point to put fresh batteries in when he had returned from college as a precaution.

  
The tinny hisses and pops droning continuously over the airwaves only occurred when a button was being depressed, yet no one was speaking. Dread slowly twisted and wound itself into a knot in his stomach. Jonathan rolled out of his bed as quickly as he dared without waking Nancy, but she still shifted without his weight next to her before nuzzling back into the pillow, thankfully remaining asleep.

  
The muffled commotion and muted grunts coming from down the hall did very little to prepare Jonathan for the sight that greeted him. The bedroom was in total shambles. The top covers appeared as if they had been either ripped or kicked violently off and lay in a disheveled heap at the foot of the bed. Items that were once housed atop the nightstand were toppled over and strewn across the floor, some just peeking out from underneath the pile of bedding. The fitted sheet had popped off from two of the corners because of how tightly Steve was pulling on it and bunching it in his fists. Steve, himself, was curled into a fetal position, eyes screwed shut and releasing a soft keening sound from the back of his throat.

  
“Steve?” Jonathan’s voice was so low, it barely even qualified as a whisper.

  
Steve startled at the sound of his name and waved a hand in front of him frenetically, palm out. His panic was almost palpable and very evident in his voice, “Just go back to bed, Jonathan. _Please_. Just – just leave me alone, okay?”

  
“No. Not okay. If you think I’m leaving you by yourself right now when something is clearly wrong, you’re crazy,” Jonathan said resolutely, taking a step towards the bed.

  
“No! Don’t come any closer!” Steve’s tone was now bordering on hysterical, but he quickly changed it into one that was supposed to approximate menacing anger. Instead, the plea left his mouth as more of a broken moan that trailed off into pitiful whimpers. “I’m fine. Nothing’s wrong. I don’t need anything, so go! Get out! Just p-please…”

  
“Steve…,” Jonathan began again as he approached nearer to the bed, but got distracted when his foot kicked a solid object hidden beneath the covers. He shoved the blankets aside with his foot and clutched the discarded walkie talkie in his hand. “Were you trying to call for me?”

  
Steve parted his lips, another denial at the ready, but clamped his mouth shut at the last second. There was no point in keeping up the ruse that Jonathan could obviously see through. And Steve had the terrible epiphany that even if he had, by some miracle, been able to convince Jonathan that everything really was alright, it still wouldn’t have solved the problem. Either way, Steve was relegated to needing help from _someone_ , and it would be impossible for his dignity to remain unscathed, let alone intact under the circumstances. Better Jonathan than Nancy or, God forbid, one of the kids.

  
Jonathan could see the very instant the mask of fiery defiance bled out of Steve’s features and was replaced solely by resigned despair. He just seemed so beaten down and… _defeated_. Jonathan would do just about anything to wipe that heartbreaking look off of Steve’s face, but he had to know what put it there in the first place if he was going to successfully help him. So, he crouched down to be at Steve’s eye level and spoke as kindly as he could. “What were you calling me for? How can I help you? Talk to me, Steve.”

  
Steve shrunk himself into a smaller ball on the bed, if that were even possible. His knees were practically pulled up to his chin now and his arms were draped over his head like a shield. Steve ducked his face behind his forearms to conceal his sudden outpouring of emotions from Jonathan’s view. His shoulders shook from the distress he couldn’t restrain.

  
A hand lightly rested on the trembling joint. “Hey, man. What is it?” Frustrated at his own cluelessness, Jonathan gently tugged Steve’s arms away from his head. “Tell me what’s going on. Please, Steve.”

  
“I – I tried, but I couldn’t – I couldn’t get up, so I – I – I – the walkie talkie –“

  
“It dropped and you couldn’t call for me,” Jonathan finished for him, his hands fluttering around Steve, unsure exactly where to settle them to provide the most comfort.

  
Brown strands whipped back and forth as Steve furiously nodded his head, hiccupping out a confirming, “Y-yeah.” Steve’s breaths were coming closer and closer together until they were right on top of one another and he was almost hyperventilating. His cheeks burned under flames that refused to be cooled by the hot tears that ran down them. “I need – needed to get u-up, but I couldn’t do it, man. I couldn’t get up in – in time.” Steve was absolutely humiliated and protectively curled further in on himself once again as he squeaked out, “I’m sorry.”

  
Jonathan’s vision instantly blurred as the mortifying realization dawned on him of what Steve had been so desperately trying to prevent him from knowing at first. How his body had betrayed him in yet another new and obscene way, not even sparing him enough strength for his legs to carry him across the hall to simply relieve himself like a human being. He had tried to call for help, and where had Jonathan been? _Asleep_ next to his fiancée while Steve was in here struggling alone with all his might with his weakened body. And the fact that Steve was _apologizing_ for it all was just too much. Jonathan rubbed his eyes with the sleeve of his t-shirt, but they just wouldn’t stay dry. “You have nothing to be sorry for. _Nothing_ , okay? I’m the one that’s sorry for not being in here sooner.”

  
Steve tried to protest, but all he could do was sadly shake his head as the sobs came faster and faster until they blended into one, long angst-ridden cry.

  
Jonathan’s fingers combed soothingly through the other boy’s thick tresses while hugging him awkwardly and whispering into his hair. “Hey, shhh. It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay, Steve. I know it sucks, but let’s get you cleaned up, yeah? I’ll go grab some towels and dry clothes. Get the shower ready if you want. Just sit tight. It’s gonna be okay.”

  
Leaving Steve so distraught was the last thing he wanted to do, but Jonathan had no choice. And of course, Steve didn’t believe him when he had said it was going to be okay because it _wasn’t_ okay. _None of this_ was okay. All the things Steve had to endure just kept piling up and it was more than anyone should ever have to bear. Jonathan berated himself for not being more attentive and saving Steve from an anguish that may have been avoided had he just done something as simple as check on him in the night.

  
Nancy was leaning up against the doorframe of their shared bedroom. “Is – is Steve alright?”

  
“Yeah. Yeah, I’ve got him. Go back to bed,” Jonathan dismissed her wearily, praying she didn’t try to delve any deeper for Steve’s sake.

  
“You sure,” she asked doubtfully.

  
“Nancy, I said I’ve got it covered. So, go back to bed,” Jonathan warned as patiently as he could. He was anxious to get back to Steve.

  
“But –“

  
“No, ‘buts’, Nancy. I said go back to bed,” he snapped and then softened his tone, hoping she could read the subtext in it. “Please, Nance.”

  
She looked no less perplexed or concerned, but listened without further questions. It was uncommon for Jonathan to speak so sharply and Nancy knew there must have been a good reason for his brief outburst.

  
Exiting the bathroom, Jonathan was relieved to finally return to Steve. “You doing okay? No, of course you’re not,” he muttered more to himself. “The oxygen cord reaches into the bathroom, right?”

  
Steve nodded mutely, averting his eyes.

  
“Okay. Good. Put your arm around me.” Steve wordlessly slung his arm over Jonathan’s shoulders as the younger boy hooked his arms under Steve’s knees and around his back, feeling every last spiny prominence of the vertebrae poking out as he lifted. There was almost no heft to the cargo Jonathan cradled to his chest. He set Steve down carefully on the chair in the bathroom. “Do you need my help once we get you in the shower, or…”

  
Still not looking Jonathan in the eyes, Steve shook his head as he peeled off his sweatshirt. “No. I think I can do that part. Thanks.”

  
Silently, Jonathan helped Steve shed the rest of his damp pajamas and get seated on the chair in the shower, keeping his eyes trained upwards at all times. The shadowy figure behind the now-closed opaque curtain sniffled and dropped a head into splayed hands as new tears erupted. Jonathan left Steve to compose himself in private, and to try to salvage some of the pride he surely must’ve felt like he had lost – although Jonathan would vehemently disagree with Steve over that point.

  
The soiled sheets were stripped off the bed and thrown into the washer. Fresh linens now adorned the bed, but Jonathan didn’t reenter the bathroom until he heard the water shut off. He flung a towel over the shower rod. “Just let me know when you’re ready, man.”

  
“’Kay,” was the meek reply.

  
Several minutes passed before Steve indicated that he was done. Jonathan helped him get dressed and settled back into bed. Steve still refused to look at Jonathan, his soggy strands dripping streams of water over his ears and down the nape of his neck. He started to shake the droplets off of it like a dog, then thought better of it. “Any chance I could get another towel?”

  
“Sure,” Jonathan laughed, going to retrieve one from across the hall. “Pretty amazing that you need a whole separate towel for that head of hair of yours.”

  
“Jealous,” Steve teased and smiled. It was the first time he had smiled all night and Jonathan was grateful to see it. “I like my hair. It may sound stupid to you, but I’m really glad it had a chance to grow back all the way before I die, you know. At least, I’ll look like myself when it happens. Just sucks that it’s the thing people will remember about me most after I’m gone. Something so superficial.”

  
“That’s not true at all. At least, not to the people that really know you,” Jonathan begged to differ. “And we happen to love the person who’s underneath that glorious mane of yours way more than anything.”

  
“Th-thanks,” Steve stuttered out, turning his head and focusing his attention out the window even though it was still dark and there was nothing to see. The sadness just seemed to exude from his very pores. Steve swallowed thickly, “And thanks – thanks for…everything tonight.”

  
“Don’t worry about it,” Jonathan told him compassionately. “It was nothing.”

  
“It _wasn’t_ nothing.” Steve blinked his eyes rapidly against the reforming moisture and blew out a shuddering breath. “It was so – so – so… _demeaning_. You didn’t sign up for this. None of you did.”

  
“Yeah, well…neither did you.” Jonathan was firm, yet sympathetic in his statement. He wouldn’t allow Steve to be embarrassed over something he couldn’t help nor control, but was yet one more consequence of the hell he was already going through, another cruel byproduct of his disease. “I can’t even imagine what this is like for you. How brave you must be.”

  
“Am I though? Is it really brave if you don’t have a choice,” Steve scoffed. “And I’m – I’m scared to death of what comes next – or doesn’t. Like, all the time. To the point I don’t know if I’m going to be able to get through the next day. That’s not brave. Not even close.”

  
“You’ve never stopped fighting. You’ve never given up. During this whole thing. Not once. _That’s_ what makes you brave. In fact, I’d say that qualifies as a pretty accurate definition of the word.” Jonathan stepped into Steve’s view and flicked his eyes to the bed, seeking permission to sit which Steve granted with a jerk of his head. “I don’t know how to take the fear away. I don’t even know if that’s possible, but I do know that if there’s anything at all we can do to help you through this or make things easier on you, I promise we’ll all do whatever it takes. We’d do anything for you, Steve. I hope you know that by now.”

  
“I – I do. It took me a long time to get used to, but… your mom’s a pretty formidable lady when she wants to be. Said she’d make me believe it or else.” The corners of Steve’s lips turned up fondly. “I think I insulted her by trying to check myself in somewhere else. Just thought it’d be weird for everyone…after, you know…if it happened in your house.”

  
“Maybe,” Jonathan said honestly, shrugging. “But it doesn’t matter. You matter more. I think the concept of a good death is relatively new in our culture, but it’s still kinda important. And also, kinda the point of hospice. Isn’t that why you agreed to it?”

  
“I suppose.” Steve studied the ceiling and pushed the next words out as if they physically pained him. “I just never thought it’d feel so much like I was just…giving up, you know.”

  
“Hey, c’mon. Don’t do that.” Jonathan could tell Steve was still speaking from a place of fear and apprehension, and as a result was second-guessing himself. Jonathan refused to let him torture himself and took his hand, searching for the right words to give him the reassurance he sought and craved. “I think you’re confusing giving up with acceptance. You, the doctors, did everything you could. You went through treatment after treatment and medications and the transplant and fought and fought until there was absolutely nothing left to fight _with_. And even after that you still kept fighting, even when it wasn’t likely to keep you with us any longer. But you also knew when the time had come to stop. When it was time to let them make you comfortable and do whatever they can to give you peace. That’s not giving up at all, Steve. It’s _not_. I hope you can see that.”

  
Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. “I do. I do. I just…last minute jitters or something. The nurse’ll be coming tomorrow.”

  
“Speaking of which…you should probably tell the nurse about tonight. Or I can if you want. They might be able to figure something out to help you,” Jonathan wisely suggested.

  
Steve sighed tiredly. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Just not anyone else, okay?”

  
“C’mon, man. I’d never do that. You didn’t even have to ask,” Jonathan was slightly hurt that Steve even thought the possibility existed that he would ever betray his trust like that, but the innate tendency his parents had implanted in him could never be entirely erased.

  
“Sorry.” Steve realized his mistake and the silence got awkward again. He quickly changed topics. “Nancy probably told you already, but we talked. Like, a lot. Well, more like she did most of the talking and I listened.” Jonathan huffed a laugh at that because he had often been in the same position. “I think it was good, you know. For both of us. Tied some things up.”

  
“Good.” Jonathan said, and he _meant_ it. And in fact, he _had_ known about their talk. Nancy had seemed lighter in the days following Prom and he had questioned her about her shift in moods. That’s when she had informed him of what had transpired. Jonathan was happy for the both of them.

  
“How are the job searches going? Have you two been able to set a wedding date yet?” Steve was referring to the fact that the original plan had been for Nancy and Jonathan to obtain professional jobs and then focus on the wedding.

  
Jonathan was reluctant to disclose what he and Nancy had recently discussed and decided on, but he had to tell Steve something. He went for the partial truth. “Oh, well…they’re both temporarily on hold.”

  
“Wait! What?”

  
“Just for the summer. We both wanted to take some time off before diving in headfirst.” Jonathan hoped Steve accepted that explanation and didn’t probe further.

  
“You sure this has nothing to do with me,” Steve asked warily. “Because if it does, I’d never forgive myself. You can’t put your lives on hold –“

  
“Steve! Relax, willya? We were both stressed out with all the last-minute college stuff and wanted to take a couple months off to regroup. That’s all,” Jonathan lied smoothly.

  
“Okay. If you’re sure,” Steve said doubtfully. “Wish I’d be around to see you two get married. Bet that sounds pretty strange, doesn’t it?”

  
“No, not really. Us too,” Jonathan grew somber. “But want to hear something even stranger? If things were…different, I’d want you to be my best man.”

  
“Yeah, that’s pretty messed up. I don’t think we’re normal,” Steve agreed, chuckling. “Wait. Not that I'm not honored or anything, but what about Will?”

  
“Normal’s boring. And okay, _co_ -best man,” Jonathan corrected. “You’re like, my best friend, Steve. If someone would’ve told me that in 1983, I would’ve accused them of being on dope. Who knew?”

  
“Yeah, who knew that the guy whose camera I broke in a jealous snit would be one of my best friends, too and one of the people I could count on the most?” Steve never had been able to completely let himself off the hook for that one.

  
“Steve, c’mon man. Don’t go there. I know you bought the new camera, and I forgave you such a long time ago. Can you do me a favor?” Steve finally looked at Jonathan for the first time all night. “Forgive yourself.”

  
Steve looked skeptical. It was just one of many things he was never very good at and he wasn’t very convincing when he said, “I’ll try. Thanks, man.”

  
Jonathan hadn’t missed the toll this night had taken on Steve. He fidgeted almost constantly, clearly uncomfortable, and his blinks got longer and longer as his eyelids grew heavier. It was no wonder he was exhausted given that, on top of everything else, his sleep was interrupted. “You look beat. I should probably let you get some more rest before everyone gets up.”

  
“No. Please stay,” Steve latched onto the younger boy’s wrist as Jonathan moved to rise, his voice coming out small and uncharacteristically timid, “Not being able to get up on my own…It – it scared me really badly. I can’t handle being alone right now, if that’s okay.”

  
“Of course, it is, Steve.” Jonathan immediately settled back down onto the bed and shifted up to recline against the pillows. “Just get some rest. I’ll be here.”

  
“Thanks.” Silence blanketed the room once again as Steve burrowed further into the pillows and battled to find a position that lessened his pain. “Jonathan?”

  
“Yeah?”

  
“Remember that project I asked you to help me with,” Steve questioned tentatively.

  
How could Jonathan forget? It was something Steve had talked extensively about working on right after he was given the news that he was terminally ill. Steve had sworn Jonathan to secrecy before he even divulged any of his plans. Without even thinking about it, Jonathan had readily agreed to facilitate some of Steve’s last wishes in whatever way he conceivably could, knowing but not knowing at the same time just how agonizing it might be to carry out. The caveat was that Steve didn’t want anyone to come across any of it accidentally, so he wanted to do it as close to the end of his life as he possibly could while still being somewhat capable of participating. Jonathan had just been waiting on that heartbreaking moment for Steve to give the green light.

  
“I think it’s time,” Steve’s somber admission was carried along on a breath just shy of a whisper, so soft that it was barely audible.

  
But to Jonathan, that statement was so loud it was deafening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first song quoted in this part is "Every Rose Has Its Thorn" by Poison and the second song is "Heaven" by Warrant. I probably shouldn't admit this, but I have a weak spot for 80's metal ballads, and the second song is really special to me. It fit with the tone (and was released in the summer of '89 right around when this part took place), so I went with it. And I hope I didn't offend anyone by Steve and Dustin discussing religion. It's certainly a difficult topic to navigate, but one that certainly comes up in Steve's situation for many people. I know there are many, many belief systems out there and am not trying to favor one over any others, but I happened to notice something when I was re-watching a ST episode. Unless I misheard him, when they were in the bus and Dustin was radioing for help, he yelled for Hopper, Mike, etc., but he also slipped God in there at the end, so I took that little piece of canon and ran with it. I was really, really nervous to post this part, so if there's anything you didn't like or thought I could have done better, constructive criticism is always welcome. And if you have any questions about some of the side effects I've written in or anything else, I'll do my best to answer them. I do hope you enjoyed it a little, at least, even with the heavy subject matter. Stay well and take care of yourselves!


	22. Is Leaving You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saying goodbye is never easy - for the one leaving or those left behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the long delay. Unforeseen circumstances arose, but this is the longest chapter I have written to date, so hopefully that makes up for it. Major warning for this part. Also, possible TW for anxiety, in depth discussions surrounding death, medicinal drug use, mention of a learning disability, and I take some liberties with El's powers. This chapter was truly emotional to write and I hope you feel the same when you read it. I hope you all are well and as always, happy reading!

As the days of summer stretched out endlessly longer, Steve’s time grew grotesquely and infinitely shorter. The sunshine, and its cheerful lengthened reign up above, was more a mocking presence than anything when its perpetual radiance was juxtaposed against all the compiling, not-so-subtle indications that Steve’s own light was fading.

  
Anymore, Steve’s bad days far outnumbered his good ones, the latter of which El had come to call a ‘blue sky day’ in reference to one of her favorite leisurely afternoons she had spent one-on-one with him. A day that had happened to fall on his last birthday, where Steve had seemed relatively free from the shackles of pain that usually kept him prisoner. The pair had watched the clouds roll lazily by in a sky so crisp and brightly cerulean that it resembled more of a whimsical fabrication from a child’s mind who put crayon to paper than anything that could truly be real.

  
“Today isn’t a blue sky day, is it,” El asked of Joyce who had been attending to Steve throughout the early morning hours and into the late afternoon.

  
Joyce glanced over her shoulder at the young girl. That was a vast understatement. It was one of Steve’s worst days thus far, but all she said to her was, “No, sweetie. I’m afraid it isn’t. Steve’s having a rough time of it right now.”

  
El frowned unhappily but didn’t comment further before leaving the room to report back to the others of Steve’s current condition.

  
The railing bit into Joyce’s side as she leaned against it to resume her ministrations over the prostrate form in the bed. She brushed a cool hand over Steve’s clammy forehead and let her fingers run through the thick locks of his hair again and again in hopes that her relaxing touch could mollify the misery presently plaguing the poor, ailing boy.

  
The aridness clung to Steve’s throat so ferociously that swallowing was a more laborious endeavor than it should’ve been, and it made speaking almost downright impossible. All he could manage to do was blandly shift his dull gaze over to Joyce whose motherly instincts instantly homed in on the source of his newly acquired discomfort. She clicked the siderail down and used the controls to raise him up a bit before gingerly slipping a straw past Steve’s cracked and peeling lips so he could sip gratefully.

  
When he was finished drinking, Steve lightly skimmed the cup with his fingertips to gently push it away. Joyce peered into the glass. “That was almost a whole cup this time. Good job, sweetheart. Are you hungry?”

  
Steve whisked his head back and forth listlessly. At best, his appetite was fleeting, but he still made the effort to eat. Why, he wasn’t quite sure. They weren’t going to put the feeding tube back in. He had seen to that by signing a directive preventing them from doing so. And no matter how much he took in, the pounds just seemed to slough off of him at a breakneck pace. Still, he tried, but any enjoyment he had gotten previously from food had long since melted away.

  
“Kids,” Steve croaked out, quickly changing the subject.

  
“Oh, everyone’s hanging out in the bedrooms. Wanted to give you some privacy and peace and quiet to rest.” Joyce smoothed out a stray strand of hair that had fallen loose above Steve’s increasingly knitted brows. The remorseful expression spreading across his features was one he wore much too often, and Joyce strove to erase it as she dabbed a bit of lip balm onto his lips. “It’s okay, honey. Don’t you worry. They understand and they really don’t mind where they’re hanging out as long as they’re together. They can play that fantasy game anywhere, and the living room isn’t the only room with a T.V. in it.”

  
It was bad enough that Joyce had essentially built on an addition to her house to provide Steve a place to stay and be nursed through the duration of his illness, but now he was taking over the living room – and by extension – the whole front of the house, too. And wasn’t that ironic? His _death_ bed was situated in the _living_ room.

  
This monstrosity of a hospital bed became necessary when Steve’s weakness escalated to the degree that not only had getting out of a regular bed or even walking a few steps developed into an unattainable feat, but the ability to merely reposition himself comfortably without aid had been lost, as well. These emerging difficulties necessitating the special bed coupled with the oxygen and any other equipment Steve might require in the foreseeable future were too tight a fit for the modest bedroom and the total privacy of his safe haven had to be sacrificed for utility and space.

  
And Steve hated all of it. He hated being confined to bed except on those rare occasions that he felt well enough for Hopper or Jonathan to lift him into the plush armchair beside the cursed contraption so he could sit up for a bit and take the pressure off his back, or even rarer still, outside in the wheelchair. He hated the humiliation of being unable to go to the bathroom without someone carrying him in there and helping him to bathe or use the toilet. Otherwise, he relied on bed baths and dry shampoo and the urinal which he detested, but it was preferable to the alternatives. Perhaps, worst of all, was that not only was the cancer once again overshadowing and consuming every part of him and the lives of all those surrounding him, but was now confiscating the house and the few scraps of dignity he had left in its greedy talons, as well.

  
It was a merciless, hungry beast that left nothing undevoured in its destructive path.

  
And there was absolutely nothing Steve could do about any of it except surrender the last remnants of control he had stubbornly clung to over his dwindling life and make room for the guilt eating away at him over it all almost as quickly as the cancer itself. That is, when he wasn’t too busy navigating the mounting crescendos of agony assaulting his body and clouding his mind. Nothing they had given him to date had provided any real relief. Not for very long, anyway. He was riding out another relentless surge and only distantly registered the front door opening and closing.

  
Hopper had returned from his shift and like always, the first thing he did was ask after Steve. “How’s he doing today?”

  
“Not good. It’s been a really bad day,” Joyce answered honestly, ghosting the back of her hand against Steve’s pale cheek as his respirations sped up. “The nurse was here earlier. His lungs are okay, thankfully, but…They added another medication to his scheduled doses, but nothing seems to work enough to get Steve comfortable. He’s still hurting something awful, Jim.”

  
As if that weren’t glaringly obvious by the sweat beaded on Steve’s brow and his contorted grimace. And as if they hadn’t already had this conversation before on numerous occasions in the past month. Hopper stuffed down the exasperation and the frustrated discouragement over yet another unsuccessful attempt at granting Steve a respite from his constant pain. The policeman balanced on the edge of the bed and enfolded Steve’s scrawny hand in his larger calloused one, smiling kindly and sounding far more optimistic than he felt. “Hey there, kid. Today’s been pretty shitty again, huh? Hopefully, it’s just gonna take a couple doses to be fully effective, yeah? Keep hanging in there.”

  
Those were such hollow and paltry sentiments to offer, but it was all Hopper had to give. His prior experience and the years since Sarah had not afforded him any more constructive words of wisdom or less clumsy methods of mitigating the devastation imposed by this affliction, nor had it done a goddamn thing to save either one of them.

  
Hopper was as equally paralyzed with despair now over his laughably limited capabilities as he was back then, but Steve never held his perceived ineptitude against him. The naked trust bleeding through the ever-present layer of pure torment reflected in Steve’s large eyes was almost too much for the father in him to bear. The policeman knew he didn’t deserve to be the recipient of such a look laden with unshakable faith and an esteem that he felt so unworthy of deep down from yet another child that he had failed – and kept failing - to protect.

  
A desperate phone call and another dose yielded little to no results. The pain enveloped Steve like a sadistic cocoon that was impossible to emerge from, and he had been reduced to involuntarily producing low whimpers that caught and died out in the back of his throat. Every pitiful sound cut the adults to the quick. As the incessant cries increased in frequency and volume, Jim decided he had had enough of standing idly by and not being able to do anything meaningful to ease them. As far as he was concerned, it was way past time to stop being useless and to take matters into his own hands. He grabbed his gun belt off the rack and shoved his hat roughly on his head.

  
“Wh – what,” Joyce’s head flew up from where she hovered over Steve. “Where are you going, Jim?”

  
“To try to get Steve what he should have gotten a long time ago – some relief.” Hopper stormed out of the front door with that vague explanation, only making it as far as the porch before turning on his heel and stomping back to add one more thing. “Get the kids out of the house for a little while. Send them to the movies or something.”

  
After the door had abruptly swung closed, Joyce was no less puzzled but obeyed. She enlisted Jonathan and Nancy to be in charge of the spontaneous excursion. None of the kids were overly enthusiastic about leaving the house, in general and especially with the state Steve was in, but Dustin least of all. He practically had to be pushed out the door, but not before lingering by the bed long enough to say a worried ‘goodbye’ and an ‘I love you’.

  
Steve laid a frail hand over his heart and pried his lips apart to attempt to speak, but Dustin shushed him by placing his own hand over his friend’s. It was so cold. “It’s okay, Steve. Don’t strain yourself. You don’t have to say it, okay? I already know. Okay? I know.” Dustin gave a gentle squeeze and reluctantly followed the others out the door, looking back over his shoulder the whole time.

  
Dustin’s sweet farewell, the Chief’s crippling concern poorly disguised as anger at the situation, Joyce’s innate and steadfast calming nature, and not a single cell left in his body that wasn’t under full attack and screaming out from the excruciating torture inflicted upon it – it was too much. It had reached this level of bad before, but never so sustained and protracted a period without receding, at least a little. Steve really thought this might be what the end was like. Panic snowballed within him until it nearly eclipsed any of his physical complaints.

  
Short bursts of air flew from Steve’s mouth faster and faster and closer together in his terror over this possibility. He was gasping for breath – suffocating - and he just knew he wouldn’t last much longer. “I – I…can’t…breathe.”

  
Alarmed, Joyce fumbled to secure the clip of the portable monitor to his finger. Ninety-three. Not great, but still passable. She carded her fingers through his hair. “Sweetheart, your oxygen level is okay. But maybe a breathing treatment might make you feel better, if you want. And do you want to try one of those pills the nurse left for your nerves?”

  
Steve nodded frantically. Anything. He would do anything to make this feeling go away.

  
It had been a shoddily guarded secret that Steve was incredibly jumpy and always on edge after the Upside Down business. Hell, they all were. But Steve was just a bit more tightly wound than the rest of them, as if he were predisposed to such a state. Joyce was pretty sure they had seen him through a panic attack or two, particularly after his first relapse, so it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility for Steve to be experiencing another. His anxiety level had only kept building and building throughout his battles until it had reached a critical level after his terminal diagnosis, especially as his health deteriorated further to the point that he couldn’t get out of bed on his own, anymore.

  
And he was not alone. It was far from an abnormal reaction for someone in Steve’s shoes, the nurse had explained before leaving the prescription behind. In fact, under the circumstances, it was _expected_. Joyce shook the medicine into her palm, cupping it as she dropped it onto Steve’s tongue along with a swallow of water before placing the nebulizer mask over his nose and mouth. She readjusted the straps as she always did now because Steve’s face was thinning and shrinking rapidly, disappearing as fast as the rest of his body.

  
An eternally long few minutes had elapsed, but Steve’s distress hadn’t abated even the tiniest bit despite the ingestion of the pill and the fine aerosol mist of medication that painted the interior of the clear plastic a cloudy white. Joyce had no clue as to where Hopper had disappeared to or why he had shooed the kids out of the house, but she wished he would hurry the hell up. She was quickly running out of options.

  
The sight of Steve weakly floundering and gasping for air in his fright shot an arrow right through her motherly heart, landing with a bullseye exactly in the piece Steve had taken up a permanent residence in right next to the parts that belonged to Will and Jonathan. Desperate and at a loss of what else to do, she climbed into the bed and propped Steve up against her petite frame. She tried to sit him up as straight as possible in hopes of aiding his breathing. Joyce cradled him from behind, sweeping a hand through his thick mane over and over again and letting her short nails scratch against his scalp to relax him.

  
Joyce absently hummed. The rapid hitching in Steve’s chest was slowing somewhat. Joyce didn’t know if it was the medication, the positioning, the humming, or a combination of all three, but she was afraid to stop any of them. In fact, she was encouraged to go further. When Will was a colicky baby, Joyce used to sing to him. It was the only thing that ever worked to get him back to sleep. His favorite, even as the years passed, had always been ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’. But Steve wasn’t a small child, let alone a baby, and Joyce was unsure whether her method of calming an infant would be as equally well-received by a very sick twenty-two-year-old man. She had exhausted all the other alternatives though, so she tentatively transitioned into a rather soft and shaky and slightly off-key rendition of the song. The mother peppered loving reassurances in between her rusty notes, easily slipping back into a well-practiced role. “Shhh, baby. I’m here. Shhh. You’re safe.”

  
Warm tears dripped over her fingers where Steve’s head had lolled listlessly to the side and rested against her arm. Joyce kept her arms crossed tightly in front of Steve’s upper chest, wrapping him in a secure embrace, her hands pressed against the swells of his prominent collarbones. She registered that they were being loosely clasped in silent appreciation. Steve was conveying his gratefulness for her efforts in the only way he was capable of at that moment. Joyce began to rock as she continued to sing over the lump in her throat. It was almost automatic, how she swayed when her arms were full of a child needing comfort – no matter how big they were. Steve’s swift inhalations and exhalations had finally tapered back off into low whines.

  
Hopper let himself back in in a rush, bestowing a curious stare upon the pair who startled at his entrance, not privy to what had transpired in his absence. Joyce kissed the back of Steve’s head affectionately to help him relax again and then hissed at Jim, “What the hell? Where have you been?”

  
Instead of answering directly, the policeman fished inside his jacket pocket and brought a clenched fist out, letting a rolled-up Ziploc bag unfurl from it. “Getting this. Figured nothing else was working, so may as well try something that might.”

  
Joyce’s eyes widened in shock and she carefully extricated herself from the bed, settling Steve back into the pillows gingerly. “A _joint?_ Hop, what the hell are you thinking? How do you expect Steve to _smoke that_ when he can barely breathe let alone lift his head up? Do I even wanna know where you got that?”

  
“Probably not,” Hopper replied wryly. “And that’s not exactly what I had planned.”

  
“Well, what then?”

  
“Hey, kid…Ever hear of shotgunning?” Hopper approached the bed and was amused at the culpable look that sluggishly flitted across Steve’s features. “Relax. I’m not here to bust you. We were all stupid teenagers once. But this? This is different. This ain’t just for a mental joyride, here. Besides, if anyone ever found out about this, I’d be the one in trouble, not you. You’re way too sick to take the wrap. Whaddaya say? Wanna give it a go? Joyce, help him out.”

  
Joyce shot him an incredulous look and pulled him by the khaki sleeve of his uniform around the corner into the kitchen. “Are you _crazy?"_

  
“No, not crazy. Just sick and tired. Sick and tired of watching another kid I love dying. Sick and tired of watching that same kid go through tremendous pain _every moment_ of _every day_ in the meanwhile. No matter they do for him, Steve’s still _suffering_ , and there’s no _sense_ to it. I can’t...I can’t watch…,” Hopper’s lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line and he gripped the back of the kitchen chair so tightly that his knuckles turned white. “I don’t think I’m strong enough to do this again, Joyce. I don’t. But I have to be. I don’t have a choice because Steve sure as shit didn’t get one. And I don’t give a rat’s ass about the _rules_. I’m not going to sit passively by on the sidelines. Nope. Not this time. Not if I can _do something_. I can’t save him, but maybe I can _help_ him.”

  
The dismay vanished from Joyce instantaneously at that admission and was replaced by great empathy. She rubbed her hand up and down Hopper’s tense arm and gave him a small smile. “Alright. Let’s go help Steve.”

  
The apparatus that had delivered the breathing treatment, as well as the cannula, were removed and set to the side. Joyce hesitated only briefly before clamping the crinkled paper between her lips. They’d have to make this fast because Steve would only be able to tolerate so much. Hopper lit the end. She took a deep drag and held up her index finger, followed in succession by her middle finger and then her ring finger before blowing it out in a steady stream as Steve inhaled it through his mouth as best as he could. Joyce coughed. It had been quite a while. “Hold it in if you can, honey.”

  
They repeated the motions twice more before Steve waved her off, the lack of oxygen and the prominent coughs wracking his already overworked lungs and brutally jarring his brittle bones making it too difficult to continue. Steve sunk further into the pillows, wincing and panting from the exertion as Hopper resecured the cannula in his nostrils.

  
Joyce stubbed out what was left in the ashtray, a faint buzzing in her head. Judging by the subtle spaced-out look in Steve’s eyes, she assumed he was experiencing something similar, although, it didn’t appear to be reducing his pain level very much which had been the original intent. The low moans escaping from the base of his throat recommenced and Steve pulled at the handrail, struggling to maneuver onto his side and squirming in discomfort.

  
Hopper stepped forward to get Steve into the position he sought, stuffing pillows behind his hips and under his limbs for extra support and the padding that his body no longer possessed. It seemed that the policeman had come to the same conclusion Joyce had about its effectiveness, or alleged lack thereof. “Sorry, kid. Thought this would help. Guess not.”

  
“S’okay. Didn’t ‘pect it to,” Steve mumbled before falling into a morose and dejected silence. He had grown so accustomed to his pain that he couldn’t remember what it was like to live without it anymore and had lost all hope of ever being free of it, save for the sweet release of death. Earlier, it had been so blinding and severe that Steve had been convinced that it was all over for him in that instant and he had been nearly hysterical. But now? Now the constant agony had eroded his will into near non-existence and he…almost wished for it.

  
Those dark thoughts terrified him as they swirled and eddied around his brain, leaving him as dizzy and discombobulated as the physical torture his body withstood. That’s not what he really wanted – not really, but Steve was so tired of fighting a battle that he would not win. So, so tired. And he hurt so bad. All of it was messing with his head, making Steve drastically desperate to be plucked from the mental mire he waded through and liberated once and for all from his creaking bones and shrieking nerve endings. But the truth was that he wasn’t ready to let go yet. He just wasn’t. But Steve couldn’t free himself from the quicksand he was rapidly sinking in alone. He needed something else – a lifeline – to cling to and help pull him back up. He reached up to claw and scramble for purchase at whatever he could find.

  
Joyce’s gentle and consistent, repetitive touch was like a salve that broke through the confusion, grounding him and anchoring him back to reality. Steve concentrated on the soothing sensation, feather-like, that little by little served to temporarily block out the thousands of tiny live wires under his electrified skin and sweep away the cobwebs of his mental fatigue. The contact of her affectionate hand became his saving grace as she continuously raked her nails up and down his back in steady strokes, only coming to an abrupt halt and lifting her hand when he emitted a choked off sob at relief so profound it was almost painful. And then another. And another.

  
Half-delirious and overwrought from this latest acute episode and wrung out with total exhaustion – and maybe a little loopy from all the drugs – Steve couldn’t stem the outpouring of his emotions. Steve’s subconscious had wrestled for control and won. He called out urgently to her from the depths of his soul to resume her healing touch and to finish rescuing him from the sea of turmoil he had been drowning in like she had done so many times before. Steve wanted to tell her not to stop – never to stop because if she did he might spin into the abyss forever never to be reclaimed, but he could only muster enough presence of mind and strength to release a one-worded child-like plea. Steve put everything he had left within him into his cry, but still his voice caught and fractured on that one distraught syllable, “Mo-om.”

  
Sniffling back the sudden onset of tears and sharing an aggrieved look with Hopper, Joyce brushed a thumb against Steve’s damp cheek where the skin was stretched much too tautly over the bone. It wasn’t the first time he had apparently cried out for her in such a way through one of his hazes, but it was the first time she had been present to hear it for herself. Joyce’s heart shattered, reformed, and shattered again into a zillion tiny, jagged shards over all the bittersweet implications that such an entreating plea elicited from a boy who, until he had met her, had had the learned behavior ingrained in him to suppress the urge to call out for a mother. Or a father - or even any support at all – no matter how grave the reason. If only Joyce could go back and fix that for him, too. “I’m here, sweetheart. I won’t leave you. I’m right here my sweet, brave, strong, beautiful boy.”

  
Of course, Steve was too far gone to realize and comprehend just what he had said, but as Joyce spoke, he tracked her intelligently with his eyes, clearly hanging on to every syllable. There was something familiar about those words, like she had used those endearments to describe him before. Long ago, right over there in the kitchen, as he let go of his hair for the second time. And before that, the hospital. He remembered it made him feel warm and safe and loved and hopeful, even. Steve let himself be carried along by those words back to that place.

  
Joyce saw the clear signs that Steve was responding to her sweet murmurs. She persisted with her hushed tones as his eyes began to glaze over and the grooved lines of his face softened around the edges. And even then, she didn’t stop.

  
“That’s right. Listen to my voice. I’m here. I’m here and you’re okay. You’re okay my brave, beautiful boy. My beautiful, beautiful boy.” Joyce resumed tenderly tracing her fingertips along Steve’s overly well-defined vertebrae, now interspersing her constant stream of reassurances with loving kisses to his temple. The whimpers were barely audible now and Joyce continued repeating her soothing invocation until its cadence morphed into a melody, vaguely mimicking a song she must have heard once or twice. “My beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy.” Over and over.

  
The singsong inflection eventually had the desired effect and Joyce sighed, pleased when Steve’s eyelids began to droop shut at long last. The hand that Hopper grasped became more and more lax, and it seemed like Steve was finally, _finally_ , getting enough of a reprieve to properly rest.

  
The policeman was simmering to a boil just below the surface and fought to hang onto the rage that wanted to bubble over. He didn’t care what pharmacy he had to ransack or who he had to threaten to make it happen, but _someone_ was going to get his boy out of pain. They were going to find _something_ so Steve never had to endure another day like today. Hopper wasn’t going to tolerate anything less – and neither was Steve. Steve wouldn’t die like this – writhing in helpless agony with no other choice but to withstand it. Never again. Not on his watch.

  
Hopper picked up the handset of the phone in the bedroom, prepared to go on a full rampage, kicking and screaming, only to immediately deflate when he was told that a resolution was already in process. A pain pump had been ordered and as soon as it was filled, someone would be out to hook Steve up to it – probably no more than an hour or two. “Okay, good. ‘Bout damn time,” Hopper barked before slamming the receiver down so hard the whole gadget jangled, needing some outlet for his thinly restrained anger.

  
The more frequent and consistent infusion of medication was a tremendous improvement for Steve. It wasn’t a miracle drug that restored him to full health or anything, but it did allow for Steve to utilize the time he had left in a more meaningful way than just languishing miserably in the bed. At least, when he was awake. The only drawback was how drowsy it made him.

  
Steve slept more and more as the humid July days gave way to the scorching heat of August. No one was more astonished than Steve that he was still alive to see another month. Despite his increasing somnolence and the sickly yellow glow now painting his waxen skin, there was also a noticeable air of peace around him that hadn’t been there before. Now that his most disruptive and grueling symptoms were better managed, Steve could take pleasure in the simple things again. Being surrounded by his family was what he enjoyed the most, though. What they were doing was inconsequential as long as they were in the same room, or – in many cases – right by his side.

  
The kids certainly weren’t shy about encroaching on Steve’s personal space, one or two of them lounging on the bed with him while the others spread out on the floor. On more than one occasion, somehow all of them had crammed themselves onto the mattress and Hopper and Joyce had chased them off with a stern reprimand, afraid that it was hurting Steve. Steve told them each and every time that he was fine, and he didn’t mind because he really didn’t. He needed the tactile reassurance just as much as he figured the kids did, no matter how they chose to seek it.

  
El preferred to just snuggle, sometimes napping right alongside him. Will would sometimes perch on the edge of the bed, showing him a drawing or pouring over the music books before running off to practice on the piano. Max would study the cookbook as she whipped up one of the recipes in the kitchen, bringing the finished product over for him to taste and critique. Steve suspected that it was her secret way of getting more food into him, but he never refused her when she stretched out next to him with a dish in her lap and slipped as many bites into his mouth as she could finesse.

  
With Senior year looming just over the horizon, there were novels to be read in preparation. Spurred on in part by Steve, Mike and Lucas took turns reading aloud to the group so no one fell behind. They would only pause in their narrations to insert a comment or argue a point. Sometimes, Steve fell asleep to the lull of their voices, his hand always secured firmly in one of theirs’. But when he was more lucid, he listened engrossed, finding their discussions enlightening and in awe all over again how gifted and insightful his friends were.

  
Steve had never been a great reader and was admittedly pretty dense in that department, but somehow when Mike or Lucas recited the text, he was able to follow along and understand it. There had been some question when he was much younger whether he had a learning disability or not, but his parents had never followed up on it. Steve had gone through his whole school career just believing he was stupid and had been conditioned by his parents to keep the other part to himself, like he was defective or something. He didn’t want to do that anymore, and in defiance of his upbringing, privately whispered that secret to Dustin one night.

  
Dustin’s face crumpled into an expression so sad, that Steve was suddenly regretful for burdening him with that confession. The reaction wasn’t for the reason he thought, though. “All those times I called you a dumbass…you know I wasn’t serious, right? I didn’t mean it like that.”

  
“Of course, I know that. What, do you think I’m an idiot,” Steve smirked at him with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “C’mere, dipshit.”

  
“Good.” A sunny grin lit up Dustin’s face in relief as he leaned forward into Steve’s outstretched arms. Even Steve’s hugs were weaker now. “’Cause I’d hate for my best friend to leave this planet thinking I thought less than the world of him.”

  
“Thanks, Dusty. I know.”

  
When he felt up to it, he let Dustin style his hair so it didn’t look like the ‘droopy coat of a Lhasa Apso’ as the curly-haired boy so bluntly ribbed. Steve weakly tossed the can of hairspray at Dustin and told him to, “Fix it for me, then, shithead. I can’t do it. And like you’re one to talk.”

  
“My hair’s magnificent, Steve. _Magnificent_. You’re just jealous of these locks,” Dustin bickered good-naturedly to which Steve huffed a protest. “Don’t be a crankypants. Just sit still.”

  
Steve obeyed, but still moved his head a little to mess with his younger friend a bit for his own amusement. He sat still for Nancy, though when, in the middle of doing her nails on the couch she caught him staring and half-jokingly offered to give him a manicure sans nail polish. Shrugging, he let her and bemoaned all the pampering he had been missing out on all these years as she kneaded and massaged his hands. “I’ll never make fun of women again for doing this. This feels amazing!”

  
Nancy chuckled a little at his reaction. “I know, right?”

  
Jonathan would intermittently confer with Steve and disappear into his locked bedroom. Robin visited often. Almost every day. And even the parents of the kids came to see Steve fairly frequently, but usually not without checking with someone first if he was up for visitors.

  
Hopper sunk into the armchair with an exaggerated, demonstrative groan, placing his hands on his knees. “The Sinclairs and Claudia want to know if they can stop by later if you feel well enough.”

  
“Yeah, sure. Of course. But, like, um…,” Steve trailed off, still somewhat embarrassed to request something so personal after all this time. It was just in his nature, he supposed. “Can you, like, help me take a shower first? Like, a real one. I know it’s a pain in the ass to drag everything in there and it’s a lot of work and all, I just…I kinda feel _gross_.”

  
Hopper laid a fatherly hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Hey, kid – Steve – stop. You don’t gotta ask or explain. You feel good enough to do it, so we do it. End of story. Doesn’t matter how much stuff we have to schlep in there as long as you stay comfortable. Got it?”

  
There had been sufficient time to get Steve settled back into bed and recover a little from getting cleaned up. Even though Hopper had done all the work, Steve was still worn out and accidently nodded off in the middle of a fresh pair of socks being put on his feet. He awoke groggily to hushed voices, once again covered by the blankets.

  
“If the poor thing is too tired, we can come back another day.” Claudia.

  
“Naw, c’mon in,” the gravelly tone of Hopper welcomed them in. “He’s doing pretty good today. Wanted to get up and cleaned up and probably tuckered himself out, but he’ll be glad to see you all.”

  
The Sinclairs were only a step behind Dustin’s mom as she drew nearer to the bed. Lucas’ mom set a vase on the bedside table like she always did when she visited to brighten up the room, she said. Claudia was more pragmatic in the things she brought: a fluffy blanket, a sweater, warm socks because Steve was always freezing these days without any of his own built-in insulation left. He kept telling all of them it wasn’t necessary to bring him anything, but they still insisted on mothering him.

  
The flowers looked pretty and smelled nice, but they only served to depress Steve more than anything. As the blossoms withered and shriveled, they reminded him too much of his own reality on so many levels. Hopper had refrained from commenting, but the beat he had paused as he drug the soapy washcloth over the bulging ridges and razor-sharp edges of Steve’s ribs and spine spoke volumes. Steve hadn’t bothered to check a mirror recently, but he didn’t have to. He could feel how his bones protruded to the degree that they nearly poked through the meager layer of skin and sinew that were stretched over them to the point of breaking.

  
There was even a specific word for it. Cachexia, Steve had been told. What an ugly word for such an ugly visual representation of the severity of his illness, but an accurate one, from what Steve had gathered. But what was even more hideous than his current state were the pitying glances directed at him as a result when they all thought he wasn’t looking, like the one Claudia wore now as she rubbed at his bare, stick-thin forearm. “You’re absolutely _frigid_ , honey. Would you like me to help you put a sweater on?”

  
Steve did, and he let her. It was a nice visit and they had all stayed through dinner, but he had exhaled long and hard after they left. Sometimes, it was just… _a lot_.

  
Hopper sensed his disquiet and tapped him on the arm with the back of his hand. “Hey, if you got enough energy left, wanna get some fresh air? Maybe go outside and have a beer?”

  
Steve didn’t know how much drinking he would actually do, but the thought of sitting outside, nursing a beer in the residual dewy heat of the summer evening alongside Hopper was an appealing one. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I’d like that.”

  
“Your wish is my command, kid.” The policeman patted him once on the knee before rising and going to enlist Jonathan’s help to make it happen.

  
“Might wanna be careful saying that. You never know what I might come up with,” Steve called humorously to his retreating back.

  
The two men had hauled an armchair out to the cement pad beneath the lip of the porch - like, the actual very heavy and bulky recliner from the living room - just so Steve could be comfortable, and it made him suddenly emotional over all the lengths that the people in this house would go to just for him. There were literally hundreds of examples to draw from over the years, but Steve didn’t think he’d ever stop being affected by it and he was immensely grateful for all their kindness.

  
Refusing to be left out, the kids followed the duo outside under the guise of carrying some of the equipment. In reality, it was just an excuse to be outside safely at night and stay in close proximity to Steve. They formed a loose semi-circle in the yard, heatedly debating over what activity to engage in. El and Will quickly got bored of the tiresome argument and chased after some fireflies blinking a brilliant yellow against the deepening violet sky.

  
The temperate evening air was so pleasant and relaxing, it almost felt like slipping into a warm bath at the end of a particularly stressful day. The overstuffed chair provided ample support and cushioning to Steve’s aching skeletal frame, and he let himself sink further into it with a sigh of contentment as Hopper reappeared with a blanket and clenching the necks of two bottles between several of his fingers.

  
Rearranging the blanket that Hopper had draped over him one-handed, Steve expertly freed the lines attached to the infusion pump and the oxygen so they wouldn’t get crimped under the weighted folds. Hopper slid a straw into one of the beers before clinking them together and then offering one to Steve. “Cheers, kid.”

  
Hopper had to hold the beer steady and keep the straw pinched between his fingers for Steve to be able to get a couple swallows of the frosty liquid. Steve gave a small tip of his head to indicate he was finished for the moment. He idly traced the path of the clear tubing peeking out of his t-shirt and running across his lap with a finger. “Probably shouldn’t be drinking with…this.”

  
“Don’t think it’s really gonna hurt you now,” Hopper stated matter-of-factly as he took a swig from his own bottle, smiling faintly to preclude the sting such blunt words might cause.

  
“Yeah, I guess not.”

  
The two men sat in companionable silence, just listening to the noisy, monotonous song of the cicadas hidden high in the treetops. Their droning hum was only interrupted by the occasional chirping of crickets, a higher-pitched counterpart to the low buzzing.

  
Fireflies danced haphazardly above their heads in random patterns; their stuttering yellow lights contrasted against the comparatively stationary bright white stars. El stretched out her arms and captured one mid-flight. She ran over to them with her hands cupped. “Look, Dad. They’re so pretty. Why do they light up again?”

  
“Luminescence,” Hopper informed her, but El’s face scrunched up in confusion. “There. That’s your word for the day. Look it up or ask one of your friends to explain it.”

  
El accepted the succinct reply and sprinted back towards the others, presumably for a scientific lesson. But first she uncurled her hand and let the winged insect once again take flight.

  
“She’s something else, isn’t she? Everything she’s been through and she still has this…innocence. This sense of wonder. I hope she never loses it,” Hopper commented.

  
“She won’t,” Steve said confidently. “Not as long as she has you. You’re the one who gave that gift to her in the first place. Made her feel safe and loved and protected enough that she could let that side out and just be a normal kid. You’re her _Dad_ , Hop. You changed _everything_ for her. And for me.”

  
Steve muttered that last part under his breath, so low he didn’t intend for it to be heard, but Hopper’s shrewd ears picked up on it anyway.

  
“Dad. Hmm…,” Hopper rolled the title around in his mouth slowly as if testing it out. “Now there’s something that if you had asked me about five years ago, I’d have never thought I’d be again.”

  
After he lost Sarah, Hopper couldn’t fathom even the _idea_ of becoming a father again, let alone actually being one. He was dead set on not putting his heart on the line like that ever again, but then El came. And shortly thereafter, Steve. There hadn’t been a choice in either case in his mind but to step back into that role that he swore he’d never risk playing again, for two very separate but equally crucial sets of reasons. Hopper couldn’t abandon either child in crisis, even though he knew one – or both - of those relationships could turn tragic and potentially break him all over again. And his worst fear was now being realized. Losing Steve was a pain he had hoped to never revisit, and it was going to hurt like hell in the end. It already did.

  
“That’s not true,” Steve argued gently, pulling Hopper out of his dark musings. “Just because your other daughter is gone doesn’t mean you ever stopped being her dad. That never changed. Only thing that happened after that is you just gained another daughter, is all.”

  
It was an incredibly insightful assertion for someone so young and who would never get to experience the joy of his own child calling him “Dad” for the first time – or ever. Steve was hauntingly and heartbreakingly correct in that regard, but he was wrong about one thing, though. He had omitted one very vital aspect. For as long as Hopper had known the remarkable boy in front of him, he had always discounted his importance to other people and the significant impact he made on their lives. The policeman wasn’t going to allow Steve’s insecurities to keep lying to him or let the opportunity pass to remind Steve how much he meant to them - and Hopper specifically. It wouldn’t be long before the chance to do so was gone.

  
Hopper rested a hand over Steve’s bony shoulder, a fatherly gesture he often employed, wincing as he felt the knobbiness that fit into the size of his palm. “And a son. I know, technically you don’t belong to me and you’re an adult, but I’ve known you almost as long as I’ve known El and the rest of these kids and I hope by now you know I’d be proud to claim you as my own. Truth be told, I kinda already do. You sure as hell _feel_ like mine.”

  
“I do know. After everything, I feel like yours, too,” Steve acknowledged softly, a ghost of a smile touching his lips before falling away. If his eyes were a little shinier than normal, he could blame the moonlight. “But still…you have no idea how much hearing all that means to me. I mean, if you and Joyce hadn’t…I – I’m extremely thankful to both of you – and the kids - for staying with me this whole time. Holding my hand, being by my side through all of it. Just being here, you know. It was nice after not having it for so long and…it – you guys - finally gave me something that was worth fighting for. I know it hasn’t been easy and it was maybe unfair of me to ask of all of you. Especially you, to have to live through this again.”

  
Hopper brought his face only inches from Steve's and moved his hand from the boy’s shoulder to the base of his neck. It would have been intimidating if Steve didn’t know the policeman as well as he did and the tremulousness in the older man’s voice didn’t betray his true emotions. “First off, whether you asked us to or not, we still would’ve been here for all of it because we love you. You’re stuck with us, whether you like it or not. And secondly, I want you to listen to me good, Steve. You listening? Because I want you to understand that as much as it’s unfair to have to watch someone you love go through it, it’s just as unfair, if not more so, to _be the one_ going through it. _Nothing_ about cancer is _fair_. You’ve been dealt a shit hand and you need and deserve every ounce of support we can dish out without being concerned about how we’ll handle it. it is not selfish or self-absorbed to feel like that. You have every right to grieve for yourself and the life you didn’t get to live as much as we do.”

  
Steve thought he _had_ coped with it all, but as he felt his face crumple and Hopper pull him closer, it was clear that he hadn’t fully. Maybe he had processed his _death_ , but not the potential _life_ he would lose out on. But even that wasn’t entirely true. He’d gotten to the brink of imagining what his last day might be like before it all just stopped for him, but his mind would only get so far before shutting down completely as a defense mechanism.

  
“And yeah, there’s going to be a gigantic Steve-sized hole in all our lives. And it’s gonna cut deep and scar, if it heals at all, but the alternative was never having you in our lives at all. And me personally? I don’t accept those terms, and I’m pretty sure I speak for Joyce and all the kids – even the older ones – when I say that they don’t, either.” Hopper had continued his monologue as if Steve hadn’t partially checked out and gotten buried inside his own head, but eventually he noticed the averted gaze. “Hey, kid. Did you hear what I said? You’ve got that faraway look in your eyes. What’s going on in that noggin of yours?”

  
“Yeah. Yeah, I heard you, just…I was thinking…What was the end like? For your daughter, I mean,” Steve blurted out and then tried to quickly retract at the hurt that flashed across Hopper’s face. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you something like that. Forget I asked.”

  
Hopper stared at the beer he twirled absent-mindedly between his palms, his moustache twitching in contemplation. He sighed deeply and drained the rest of the bottle. “Joyce is the only other person who knows besides my ex-wife, and even she only knows the basics.”

  
“I had no right to ask. I’m sorry,” Steve repeated his apology, cheeks ablaze with a level of perceived insensitivity that even Mike hadn’t matched at his most volatile.

  
“No, you have every right,” Hopper assured him. “If ever anyone did, it’s you. I, um – I get why you’re asking. You’re not being an insufferable busybody like some of the assholes in this town. You have a good reason. For you, I’ll talk about it.”

  
Steve remained silent. Hopper was about to share something deeply personal and painful for his benefit, and he didn’t dare interrupt that.

  
“It started out with some similarities to your situation. At first, there was hope that it could be cured. She was sick all the time, but the chemo seemed to be working…until after awhile, it wasn’t anymore. She had periods where she’d get a little better, but then it would progress again. Back and forth, back and forth like some…twisted little dance. Had no choice but to keep bringing her back to the hospital. Eventually, they kept her. She looked so small in that damn bed. Pale as a ghost, weak and frail, and not a goddamned hair on her head, but my little girl…she always smiled for me. Even when the pain really set in…,” Hopper had to pause to compose himself or he’d never get through this. “Reminds me of someone else I know.”

  
“It got really aggressive. You know how it is, kid. The medicine just couldn’t keep up with how fast it was growing. They were pretty upfront with you, but the cruelest thing they ever did was give us hope when there wasn’t any. Maybe because she was so young – just _seven-goddamned-years-old_ ,” Hopper spat out between gritted teeth. “Then again, so are you. Maybe things have changed since then. Maybe it was her age. I don’t know, but we bought into every bit of it. Kept up all the treatments, just praying that the _next_ one would finally work. It never did. She never got to come home.”

  
“Hospice really wasn’t an option back then, or at least one that we knew of. I’d like to think – I’d like to think that if it was, we’d have had enough love for her to let her go in peace, but that – that didn’t happen. Everyone was so focused on _saving her_ , that – that…She was awake and in horrible pain and gasping for air until a few days before. Then she went into respiratory arrest and never woke back up again. We let them shove a tube down her throat and shock her and bring her back over and over and over again until they finally couldn’t anymore. Instead of falling asleep and dying peacefully in my arms, my little girl died in a cold hospital bed with one doctor forcing air into her lungs with a plastic tube while another one _beat on her damn chest_ like a piece of meat instead of _my daughter_. And in the end – after everything we put her through - in the end it made no difference. She was going to go either way, and I just wish – I just _wish_ we had realized that she was ready even though we weren’t.”

  
Steve leaned over as best he could with quite some difficulty to try to offer solace to the man who had abundantly lavished it upon him, no matter what the personal cost. It seemed woefully inadequate when stacked up against all the times Hopper had held him as he cried or held his hair back as he violently vomited after treatments or picked him up off the floor or slept on an uncomfortable hospital cot or driven him to appointments or picked up his meds or confronted his parents or worried about his intake or procured illegal drugs in a desperate attempt to get him out of pain or any of the other millions of things he did just so Steve could have a chance of beating this illness, and when he no longer did, to make sure he didn’t suffer. And Hopper did it all without complaint while advocating fiercely for Steve and treating him with utmost love and respect and dignity. Hopper never gave up on him, even now. And Steve needed to tell him all that just as much as Hopper needed to hear it. “I’m sorry. I always knew part of the story. And I knew it was part of why you were so good at fighting for me so hard and taking care of me, but I don’t know how well I truly understood it until just now. And there’s not a thing you could have done differently. Nothing. Not in her case or mine. I really hope you get that. I really do because you deserve to. _You did everything you could_. And more. Thank you. It’s not enough, but…Thank you.”

  
It was the unnecessary expression of gratitude that made Hopper finally come to his senses enough again to realize that _Steve_ , of all people, was comforting _him_ , instead of the other way around as it should be. Steve was rubbing small circles onto his back with fingers that were little more than the bone concealed underneath. It finally occurred to Hopper just how horrific and terrifying what he had just relayed must have been for the boy to hear with the hands of his own clock rapidly spinning. “Oh, Steve. That’s not – that’s – I shouldn’t have said all that.”

  
“It was all true, wasn’t it?” Steve shrugged nonchalantly, as if Hopper had merely offered him a comment on the weather instead of a graphic description of his daughter’s death. A fate he would soon similarly meet. “I asked and you gave an honest answer. I appreciate you not sugarcoating it.”

  
“Yeah, but it wasn’t a _thorough_ answer. Like I said, things were different for Sarah, but you? You’re in the driver’s seat. Nothing is gonna happen to you that you’re not okay with,” Hopper promised with conviction. He now cradled one of Steve’s hands in both of his, shaking it for emphasis. “You don’t want heroic measures and just want to be kept as comfortable as possible? Then that’s what you’ll get. Your wishes _will be_ followed to the letter. Joyce and I’ll see to it. You can count on that.”

  
“I know. I don’t doubt that when the time comes to let me go, you will.” Steve huffed a tiny, humorless laugh. “I’m more worried about Dustin. He’s still just a kid –“

  
“Hey. Hey, we’ll look after him. And all the kids,” Hopper cut Steve off before he could explore that particular avenue. Steve was in the habit of putting the kids’ well-being before his own which was an admirable quality to have, but he couldn’t take responsibility over something he couldn’t control or fix. That was another thing that Steve had a tendency to do, too. “Don’t worry about us right now. Just focus on you. We’ll take care of the rest.”

  
“I do, though. Worry, you know. About everyone. I can’t help it. It sorta keeps me from thinking too much about myself and wallowing in self-pity, I guess. But that’s just it. For once, I’m worried about me too,” Steve admitted to his lap. “It’s what I want. Really. But every time I think that I’ve gotten to that place where I’m ready, I find out…I’m really not. And I have no idea how to get there. How to let _myself_ go.”

  
Hopper didn’t have a good answer for him. Intellectually, he knew he would fulfill all of Steve’s requests, but his heart was going to have more trouble following suit. And he suspected that Steve was waging the same internal battle. The instinct to preserve life at all costs was a powerful one which made death all the more difficult to accept. He didn’t know if it were possible for anyone to be truly ready no matter how much time there was to prepare for it, particularly when a life was being cut so prematurely short like Steve’s.

  
The only thing Hopper could guarantee was that they wouldn’t leave Steve to navigate this last stage on his own. Every single one of them would be right by his side to hold his hand, wipe his brow, fetch him water, offer comfort, listen, let him cry, calm his fears, or whatever else he needed. Steve would not want for anything. “We’re all here for you, kid. Whatever it takes. We’re here.”

  
“I know. Thank you.” The glittering in Steve’s eyes grew more pronounced. “I just wish I knew how to stop being so afraid.”

  
“Me too, kid. Me too.” There was a duplicit subtext in Hopper’s words. He wished he could ease all of Steve’s fears and make them disappear, but he was at a complete loss at how to do so because he couldn’t even get rid of his own.

  
Joyce could feel the heaviness in the air as soon as she stepped off the porch. It wasn’t tension exactly, but it didn’t have anything to do with the humidity, either. “Everything okay out here? It’s getting late. I was just going to call the kids in.”

  
“Yeah. Yeah, we’re good,” Hopper told her, side-eyeing Steve in the process.

  
“Yeah.”

  
“Okay.” Joyce narrowed her eyes trying to determine if they were really telling her the truth or not, but she didn’t pry.

  
The kids grumbled at her, but obediently moved back towards the house. The kids said their goodnights as they filed past. El lingered a little longer, smiling knowingly at Steve. “Blue sky day?”

  
Steve’s eyes smiled back at her as he scrunched up his nose, pretending to ponder her question for a split second. “Yeah.”

  
Hopper watched the exchange fondly. “How about you, kid? Ready to head in? Or you want to stay out here a little longer?”

  
Instead of answering those questions, Steve glanced over his shoulder to make sure the coast was clear and when he confirmed it was, released an observation he had been holding onto for quite some time. “You should just kiss her.”

  
“What?” Hopper’s eyebrows nearly met his hairline and he sat up straighter in surprise.

  
“Joyce. I know you want to. I mean, I’m pretty sure she wants you to, too. You should. I know you’re thinking in your head ‘someday’, but what if someday never comes? Don’t wait until it’s too late,” Steve advised.

  
Hopper mulled over Steve’s words. Once again, Steve had knocked Hopper on his ass with his keen intuition. The policeman was too stunned to verbally reply, so he just clapped the boy on the thigh and asked him again if he was ready for bed yet.

  
Steve opted to remain outdoors and enjoy the night a bit more. He was glad he did because, even though he didn’t know it then, that starry night was the last time he would ever get to be outside.

  
The day after Labor Day, the kids were scheduled to start back to school. Mike, Max, and Lucas had all had to go back home to sleep in their own beds the night before their first day of Senior year. El had stayed with Hopper, who had started spending nights on a pullout in the Byers’ living room when Steve had taken a sharp turn for the worse.

  
Dustin had also insisted on staying and Claudia had not fought him on that point, but she was putting her foot down when her son was refusing to go to school that morning as she came to pick him up. “I’m sorry, Dustin, but you have to go.”

  
“No, Mom. I can’t!”

  
“You are not missing school. Now march, mister!” Claudia almost always gave in to Dustin, so it was a little amusing – and unsettling – to see her not doing so.

  
But Dustin was unphased. He was adamant that he wasn’t going and dug his heels in even further in petulant insolence. “Forget it, Mom. Not happening.”

  
“Dusty…,” It was a broken whisper, barely a wisp of a sound pushed out from a dry throat that let out an audible click as Steve swallowed, but it stopped Dustin’s tirade in its tracks like nothing else had done. “Listen…”

  
As Steve’s strength had bled out of him and ebbed away like low tide, never to be replenished, speaking became almost too great an obstacle to overcome most of the time. The doctors speculated that it wouldn’t be much longer now. Steve’s organs were showing signs of shutting down and his muscles had atrophied to the degree that even breathing tired him out and without the proper air, words were hard to come by. But even though his voice was devoid of any real power, his words carried more weight than anyone else’s to Dustin.

  
Dustin made a beeline to the bed, bypassing his mother and uncharacteristically ignoring her as she reached out for him. “Yeah, Steve?”

  
“…to your mom.” Steve screwed his eyes shut and pursed his lips to concentrate on breathing for a moment. “Go. To. School.”

  
“No. School’ll still be there after…” Tears clung to Dustin’s lashes at what was left unspoken. “Don’t ask me to. I can’t – I can’t leave you, Steve.”

  
“Yes. Go.” Steve coughed softly a few times and Joyce gave him a sip of water. He was unable to lift his leaden limbs, so he flopped his hand over in an invitation for Dustin to take it. “Future.”

  
“Steve, I won’t ruin my future if I miss some time,” Dustin argued as he squeezed Steve’s hand, mindful of the numerous bruises that had appeared on the backs of them and trailed up both arms like some macabre bodily connect-the-dots game. There were even more that littered his back and chest and ran down both legs, their green-black and bluish-purple hues sending Steve’s distinctive, trademark moles fading into obscurity behind their ominous and foreboding darkness. It was one more thing in a never-ending parade of atrocities imposed on Steve that made Dustin want to cry and scream and shake his fists in the air in wrath on his behalf. Instead, he just renewed his vehemence. “You’re way more important than some stupid Physics lecture that I already understand.”

  
“ _Please_.” Steve leveled him with a stare. Dustin noticed that even the whites of his eyes were now discolored by a faint yellowing that matched his friend’s sallow skin.

  
“No. There’s not a class in the world there that’s going to teach me what I really need to know – like why this is happening, so it doesn’t matter. _You_ matter.” Dustin’s mouth was distinctly downturned into a fixed frown and his lower lip was sticking out like it did when he was on the verge of completely breaking down. “What if something happens to you while I’m gone? What if I’m not here for you?”

  
“Here. Wait.” Steve’s fingers twitched faintly as if he were attempting to squeeze Dustin’s hand in return. He inhaled and exhaled shallowly a few times. “Promise.”

  
Even though the words uttered aloud were choppy and slurred and almost inaudible, Dustin had no difficulty making them out and cobbling together their meaning. He never did. Steve had always been easy for him to read, almost like the comics he had read and re-read cover to cover so often he had them memorized. Steve was telling him he wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye. It was an impossible thing to promise, but Dustin wholeheartedly believed that if anyone was capable of it, it was Steve. And somehow, just like always, Steve knew that was _exactly_ what he needed to hear.

  
The promise, that emotional intelligence and gentle understanding that Steve reserved for them, and Dustin especially - that was what sent him careening over the edge and tumbling headfirst into the breakdown that he had been teetering precariously on the edge of. But it was also what convinced him to go to school. It wasn’t for his mom. It wasn’t for himself. It was because Steve wanted him to. And he would do anything to make Steve happy and whole again.

  
Dustin let his head drift until it landed on Steve’s chest as he gave into the sobs. Feeling the hand on the back of his head and the fingers weakly burrowing into his curls - and knowing how much it must’ve taken for Steve to put it there - only made Dustin cry harder.

  
During lunch and every break, Dustin called to check on Steve. It became his routine every day over the next few weeks, as well as waking Steve before he left to exchange a few sweet words. Mostly, it was just Dustin talking, but he needed to see Steve’s eyes open before he would gather his things up to head out the door. Steve didn’t mind. He would just fall right back to sleep, and those few minutes in the morning were important to both of them.

  
The last few nights had been heart-in-the-stomach, stomach-in-the-throat terrifying. Starving for oxygen, Steve had coughed and spluttered and gulped for air as he sucked in noisy breath after noisy breath with as much force as his scarred lungs could produce. They had called for help and each time Steve’s oxygen had been increased until it couldn’t go up any further and he was taking his shallow, sharp intakes of breath from beneath a mask that seemed to swallow his entire face. Each time, he inexplicably improved when dawn broke, dropping off into a fitful sleep again just as the sun was beginning its daily ascent. It was as if the darkness itself were to blame, no matter how ridiculous that thought was.

  
Mike, Lucas, and Max had been given permission to stay overnight on school nights again when the respiratory attacks became a regular occurrence. Even Robin had begun throwing a sleeping bag down on the floor. No one needed confirmation from the nurses or doctors. They all knew it was just a matter of days when each day became more of a struggle for Steve than the last and he couldn’t even leave the bed or sit up anymore. They knew it when the swelling beneath his jaw grew dark and more pronounced and the purple shadows permanently painted the hollows under his eyes and every gaunt crevice of his face. When every bone in his skeletal frame was visible, leaving him little more than an aching pile of skin and bones. When his pains and discomforts overwhelmed him once again and his swallows reduced to merely ineffectual spasms. When his breaths got shorter and louder and his eyelids stayed drooping heavy with fatigue. But still, presumably by purely a feat of will alone, Steve was able to crack his eyes open to slits in the mornings to reassure Dustin that he was still with them and still hanging on – even if just by the thinnest of threads.

  
Steve even had a day in the midst of his crises where his eyes were wide open and as bright and alert as ever. He was able to stay awake most of the day and was even able to move around a little bit. Although Steve had been robbed of his speech and unable to talk for several days with the exception of mouthing a few words here and there, he was still able to listen and follow along. He could interact with his family enough to let them know that he had heard their loving sentiments and could respond to their affectionate touches that were frequently showered upon him. And there was always someone nearby to do one or the other, or both.

  
Dustin had attempted to wake Steve the next morning, but Mrs. Byers and Hopper had prevented him from doing so. Steve had been up all night with breathing issues again and had just gotten to sleep. The strain of it all was quickly wearing Steve’s poor body down and they begged him to let Steve be. With memories of the decent day prior still fresh in his mind and Steve’s well-being always top priority, Dustin reluctantly listened, stealing a concerned glance back at his friend.

  
All day long, Dustin could feel the wrongness in the pit of his stomach, turning and twisting into knots of anxiety. His regular lunchtime call, on the surface, didn’t reveal anything was amiss. Mrs. Byers had _said_ nothing had changed and Steve was still sleeping, but it was the tight, eclipsed tone that set off the alarm bells. The dread wound its tendrils through Dustin until it fully encapsulated him, and he knew he shouldn’t have listened this morning. He _knew it_.

  
If the gnawing regret in Dustin’s gut wasn’t the first tipoff that he was nauseatingly and mortifyingly right, then Jonathan’s bleak expression when he picked them up surely sealed it. “C’mon. We gotta get back to the house.”

  
All the kids climbed in and shut the doors without a sound, not a single one of them able to ask the question that was forefront in all their minds. It was Mike who finally mustered up enough courage to speak: “Is – is he…gone?”

  
Jonathan’s features pinched into a near grimace, warring with the stinging in his eyes. The other occupants of the car waited with tense, bated breath for him to answer. Jonathan’s voice cracked and his display of emotion was like a punch to the sternum. “No. Not – not yet.”

  
The rest of the car ride was spent in a somber silence. Everyone had known logically that this was a monster Steve wasn’t going to be able to defeat, but they had all seen him get up time and time again to keep fighting regardless of how bleak or perilous the circumstances. Over and over again, raising up beaten and bloody and damaged or thinner and paler and sans hair, Steve had clawed his way out of the ruins of defending the world from creatures from the great beyond and the demons in his own world alike to emerge as if he were a real life, flesh and blood phoenix. Even though the inevitable conclusion was an absolute certainty, it was still hard to reconcile that this time Steve wouldn’t get back up and shake the ashes off his shoulders like he had done so many times before. The intangible theoretical of what _would_ happen and their concrete reality of what _was_ happening were two very different things entirely. And they were about to viciously collide.

  
As the shock slipped away from Dustin, it was replaced by unreasonable anger and suffocating sorrow and remorse and emotions that didn’t even stay long enough to be named. They were all framed by one underlying, irrational thought emanating from his subconscious mind and running on an unrelenting loop: _Hepromisedhepromisedhepromisedhepromisedhepromised_ ….

  
The car didn’t even lurch to a complete stop in the driveway before they were all scrambling out the doors and racing up the steps. But Dustin burst through the front door ahead of all of them. His eyes shifted frantically between the two adults in the corner listening intently to the nurse as she packed up her things and Steve. The uneven rise and fall of Steve’s chest did nothing to quell the terror bubbling up. If anything, it only heightened it.

  
Mrs. Byers saw the nurse out, swiping a hand not-so-discreetly across her cheeks.

  
“Mom,” Will began in a hoarse whisper. “What is it? What’s – what’s going on?”

  
Joyce looked to the ceiling, searching for enough composure and strength. “We – we couldn’t – couldn’t rouse Steve…He hasn’t – he hasn’t woken up or even re – responded to us, and, um… his breathing – his breathing…Oh, God. Hop…,” she cupped her hand over her mouth, no longer able to stifle the tears long enough to muddle through the heartbreaking, yet not unforeseen news.

  
Hopper pulled her against him in his place where he leaned against the wall, as if he were so weary and weighed down that his legs couldn’t even support him. It wasn’t that far from the truth. He cleared his throat before beginning in a tone so soft that it was incongruent with his gruff exterior. “Steve’s lungs are full of congestion. That’s why his breathing is even worse. Says it’s either pneumonia or his lungs and heart are failing. Probably both. They – they could do tests, give him medicine to treat it, but it wouldn’t ultimately stop it.”

  
“Then why aren’t they doing that,” Max squeaked out indignantly, not comprehending. If it was treatable then why were they not doing just that?

  
Hopper shoved his hands into his denim pockets. “Because that’s what Steve wanted. _Wants_. The medicine wouldn’t save him, just prolong the end for another day or two – a week tops - while he stayed like this. Unconscious. Steve doesn’t want that,” Hopper reiterated. “He didn’t want to be tube fed again or intubated or any other heroic treatments. Steve’s been through an awful lot. Too much. And Steve - he didn’t want to be put through anything else. It was his decision. His wishes that when the time came, he just be given comfort measures. So, we asked the nurse to come make him as comfortable as possible because it’s – it’s time. I’m so sorry kids. We should – we need to say our goodbyes.”

  
“But – but why did she leave if that were the case?” Lucas was grasping at straws, desperate to believe it wasn’t true.

  
Joyce finally collected herself and regained the ability to speak, although her words were just as saturated as her eyes. “Steve – Steve just wanted to be with the people he loved. Just us. They’ll – they’ll come back after…”

  
“Noooooooo!” The pitiful wail that ripped from Dustin’s throat pierced everyone’s hearts. He rubbed furiously at his eyes as if to scrub away the horrible reality. “I didn’t get to say goodbye. I – I didn’t – I didn’t get to say goodbye,” he sobbed.

  
“Oh, sweetie…,” Joyce reached for him.

  
“No,” Dustin screamed as he rudely yanked his shoulder away from her grasp. “No! I wanted – I wanted to wake him, but you wouldn’t let me. It’s your fault! I – I didn’t get to say goodbye.”

  
“Dustin, man. C’mon,” Mike pulled him towards his lanky body. “It’s okay. Maybe Steve’ll still be able to hear us. You can still say goodbye. It’s okay.”

  
“It’s not okay. It’s not, Mike. Steve’s never going to open his eyes again, and they wouldn’t let me – I _always_ tell him goodbye, and I didn’t get to say it,” Dustin bawled, still half yelling before tapering off. “I didn’t get to say goodbye. Nothing about this is okay.”

  
“You’re right. It’s not,” Will joined Mike in wrapping his arms around Dustin. “But we shouldn’t be freaking out on each other. We _need_ each other right now. And fighting will just take us away from spending whatever time’s left with our friend. Please, Dustin. Steve needs us.”

  
Dustin nodded, seeing the wisdom of Will’s words and backing off slightly from his righteous anger, but not enough to apologize. He was too consumed by the hole getting bigger and bigger by the nanosecond in his heart.

  
Joyce made a few phone calls to the kids’ parents to let them know what was happening, in part to explain why their kids wouldn’t be home anytime soon and in part to give them a chance to see Steve one last time.

  
The Wheelers came first. Karen hugged Mike and then Nancy, gathering her up in her arms in the most motherly gesture she could remember in recent past. Both her parents had adored Steve, and it wasn’t that unexpected to witness Karen crying quietly as she clutched his limp hand, but what was shocking was the vague mask of sadness her dad wore. That was the first instance Nancy could recall her dad showing any emotion whatsoever, and it shook her to her core. She must’ve let out an audible sob because Jonathan’s arm had snaked across the back of her shoulders.

  
The Sinclairs came next with Erica in tow. They had tried to leave her behind. Even though she was nearly fourteen now they thought it might be too much for their youngest child, but Erica had thrown the biggest hissy fit she had ever thrown. Lucas hadn’t even seen his sister cry when she broke her arm, so when she planted a kiss on Steve’s cheek and rocked back with moisture dripping down her face, it was enough to break him down.

  
Claudia was the last of the parents to arrive. She made multiple attempts to comfort her son, but he stubbornly refused all efforts. Dustin stayed scrunched in the corner, his arms drawn tightly around his knees as if he were creating his own forcefield of grief. His unblinking eyes never left the figure of his friend. Not even once.

  
Dustin remained glued to his spot as his mother choked and spluttered through her goodbye. He made no move to stand by her in solidarity like he normally would have as she stroked a hand down Steve’s increasingly ashen cheek and tenderly pushed back his bangs. “Oh, sweetie. I’m so sorry for everything you’ve had to go through. You’re such an amazing boy – man. Thank you for being such a great friend and role model to my Dusty. You’ll never know how much it meant to him and to me. You really were like a big brother to him and you’ll forever be a large part of our home and our hearts. Goodbye, sweet angel.”

  
“Are. _Are_ like a big brother,” Dustin muttered defensively, correcting the past tense to himself.

  
Joyce walked her out. “That was beautiful, Claudia.”

  
Claudia dabbed a tissue under her eyes. “Well, I meant every word. If you and Jim hadn’t practically adopted Steve, I would have. Have his – I mean – have his parents even _tried_ to see him?”

  
Joyce pressed her lips together and unhappily shook her head. “No, but according to Steve, that’s how it was gonna go.”

  
“Those… _pricks_ ,” Claudia fumed. “How can they abandon such a wonderful child with such a big heart? So much love to give. From the moment I met him when he came to pick up Dusty for the Snowball, I could see why he was so taken with him. Dusty’s heartbroken. And Steve…just take care of him – and Dusty – for me.”

  
“Of course,” Joyce pledged from one mother to another as she waved, trying to steel herself for the rest of what was to come.

  
Jonathan and Nancy were sitting on either side of Steve when Joyce reentered, each one holding a hand and talking lowly to him. Occasionally, Nancy would reach out to tuck a strand of hair behind Steve’s ear or they would both pause to suppress their emotions. Hopper smiled sadly at Joyce from across the room.

  
The irregular, faint wheezes and gurgles were the only sounds that disturbed the heavy, oppressive silence blanketing the small abode. There were no bells or alarms like there were at the hospital; just the hushed, unnatural quiet that existed in the spaces between life and death as one by one they whispered their last goodbyes.

  
There was a harsh, gasping inhalation. The exhalation that should have been the counterpart was slow to materialize. It was almost a full minute later, immediately followed by another high-pitched inhalation.

  
“Why’s he doing that? What – what’s happening,” Mike’s eyes widened in panic at the disturbing pattern.

  
“It’s called agonal breathing, Mike,” Robin supplied, dropping a warm hand onto his shoulder.

  
“It happens – it’s what happens towards the end,” Hopper informed him tiredly.

  
Robin and Will, Mike and El, and Max and Lucas had all taken their turns with Steve, but Dustin had yet to have his own private moment. To the others, it appeared as if Dustin thought he could stall death if he just put it off. That if he never said his goodbye, death wouldn’t be allowed to rip Steve from the fabric of their little lives.

  
That wasn’t the case at all. Dustin wasn’t so naïve. He just wanted to _talk_ to Steve. To reclaim what had been stolen from them because they hadn’t been paying close enough attention. They hadn’t known at the time that all those things would be his last: Steve’s last few awake moments, a final touch, smile, his _last words_. Dustin needed to see the greens and browns of Steve’s eyes squinting at him again in concentration or be the recipient of one more of his sarcastic eye rolls. He wanted to hear one more exasperated, but fond “dipshit” come tumbling from Steve’s mouth. One more hug to make Dustin feel safe and protected for just a moment from the one person that had proven they’d lay down their life for him. One last… _anything_ that he was achingly aware was Steve’s last that Dustin could savor and cherish and keep close to his heart for all eternity. Some tiny, final piece of his friend to hold onto in the cold, lonely, dark of night when his heart like all the hearts of those left behind lay gaping open and bleeding out in mourning over the cruel and forced separation.

  
Dustin selfishly couldn’t accept anything less. But as Hopper uttered those fateful words, Dustin realized that he may never get to have that. Whether he received those things or not, Steve’s time on this Earth was still going to come to its premature end. No matter how tightly he clutched onto that fantasy or how hard he tried to wish it into existence, the chance was slipping through his fingers more rapidly than water through a sieve. And Dustin couldn’t live with that.

  
The desperate panic inhabited him until it blossomed into a full-blown _possession_. Dustin almost wasn’t accountable for his actions, his body a slave to the compulsive need burning within. In a last-ditch effort and driven by his blinding anguish, Dustin sprung up from his place in the corner and grabbed El by the shoulders. “Please, El. You gotta help me. I need to talk to him one more time.”

  
“Dustin-,” several people in the room began.

  
“Please. I can’t – this can’t be it,” Dustin’s voice cracked all over the place, his frantic despair overtaking any sense of reason, the physical representation of it cascading down his cheeks. “It can’t be. I won’t let it. Steve didn’t get to _say it_. Neither did I, but maybe your power –“

  
“Don’t ask her to do that, kid,” Hopper tried to dissuade him calmly.

  
Ignoring the Chief, Dustin shook her shoulders more roughly than he meant to. “Can you do it? Can you do it, El?”

  
“I don’t…know,” she told him honestly.

  
“You _gotta_ try. Please,” Dustin craned his neck to look behind him at the policeman. “Please, Hop. Let her try. El, will you do it? _Please!"_

  
El frowned at him and Dustin lost it. He buried his face in his hands to cover them up, but the tears and the snot came pouring out of him in crushing, unceasing, inconsolable waves. If it continued much longer, he would hyperventilate and dissolve into nothing more than a puddle of his sorrow. El looked to her father for guidance. She wanted more than anything to do it, but if it failed, Dustin may never recover.

  
As if reading her mind, Hopper shook his head and posed that very question. “What if she can’t do it? What if it doesn’t work?”

  
Dustin drew in several shuddering, steadying breaths, hiccupping and sniffling simultaneously. He gathered himself enough to at least sound halfway convincing. “Then – then – then I accept it. I know there’d be no other choice and that this could go badly. If that happens then, I’ll say my peace and mourn with the rest of you. But if there’s even the smallest chance… _please_. I _have to know_. I _have to try_. I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t.”

  
The knee-jerk reaction was to say ‘no’. Despite his claim to the contrary, Dustin would be irrevocably devastated if El pushed the limits of her powers and still fell short. But the connection between the two boys was so deep that Hopper couldn’t deny it or deny the fact that if he had even the remotest possibility to do something similar with Sarah when she had been slipping away, that he would’ve jumped up in a heartbeat to grab onto that opportunity for all he was worth. Against his better judgement, Hopper nodded his permission. “Okay.”

  
Both El and Dustin were blindfolded once they were sitting cross-legged on the floor. The radio was tuned to static and they joined hands at El’s prodding.

  
It took a few minutes, but a floating sensation coursed through Dustin as if his orientation in space and time were going topsy-turvy. It was an odd, but not unpleasant feeling. The floor seemed to raise up to meet his feet instead of the other way around as his shoes landed in something solid, but squelchy. Dustin swiveled his head in confusion as their location was revealed. “What the hell? We’re just outside the Byers’ front door? I thought there was some black void or something. Is this right?”

  
El lifted her index finger to her lips, keeping Dustin’s hand secured by her opposite hand. “Be patient.”

  
“Right,” Dustin let slip before clamping his lips shut again to comply with El’s instructions. He scanned the area around them, not sure exactly what he was supposed to be searching for in the landscape other than his primary purpose for being here – Steve. Dustin tilted his head skywards to the blue expanse and the white, fluffy formations dotted throughout as if Steve were going to descend from the clouds like an angel. That thought almost made Dustin laugh out loud before he had enough sense to bite it back. If Steve spent the length of time he did on just his hair, Dustin couldn’t even begin to quantify the amount that he’d devote to preening the angelic feathers of his wings in a celestial mirror.

  
In the distance, a lone figure emerged from the tree line in the direction where Steve’s old house still stood. As it slowly approached and came slightly more into focus, even though the individual features were still indistinguishable, Dustin’s heart knew for certain that it was his friend. His body vibrated with restrained excitement, impatiently waiting for their reunion. In one second the outline flickered out and was suddenly…transported to the spot right in front of him.

  
Steve stood before him in his grey Members’ Only jacket, his Ray Bans firmly shoved up on his nose, and his perfectly styled mullet swaying in the breeze. It was the exact outfit he had been wearing on that fateful day that their two destinies entwined as they began the search for D’Art, minus the yellow dishwashing gloves. Dustin didn’t have to be Sigmund Freud to work out the significance of Steve appearing to him like this. It was that day that was a catalyst – a springboard - for their budding friendship and brotherly bond to form and mold, forged from the strongest steel fashioned from the bones of camaraderie and cemented in place by the hardest concrete whose base ingredient was trust – immobile and unshakeable and permanent. It was the day when Dustin first realized that Steve Harrington wasn’t just the cliché that everyone assumed he was. He was strong and loyal and brave and full of heart and protective and smart and kind and selfless and…

  
“ _He’s insane!"_

  
“ _He’s awesome!"_

  
“Can I – can I let go of your hand,” Dustin nearly pleaded of El, his limbs tingling in anticipation and itching to get to the one he sought.

  
El nodded solemnly, but warned, “Stay close.”

  
Dustin didn’t wait to be told twice. He flew into Steve’s arms, colliding with his body with such force that it probably should’ve toppled them both over, but somehow it didn’t. Dustin buried his face in Steve’s narrow chest, inhaling the scent that was distinctly Steve’s. It smelt of fresh laundry and hair products and a hint of vanilla like the fresh baked cookies he often made them until he grew too ill to. It was familiar and comfortable like the love and warmth of home, and it made Dustin want to cry over how much he had missed it – how it was overtaken and replaced by the overwhelming stench of sickness and decay. “Steve!”

  
Steve plucked the sunglasses from overtop his eyes, keeping one hand around Dustin. “Hey to you, too, Henderson. Hey, El.”

  
“Hey,” she smiled shyly.

  
“I heard what you said.” Steve rested his chin atop Dustin’s curls, but directed the statement to El. “Thank you.”

  
“Welcome.”

  
Dustin pushed back enough to read Steve’s face. “Wait, you could actually hear us? Them?”

  
Steve nodded his head in a flurry of movement, but Dustin didn’t miss the way he subtly averted his eyes as if covering up some emotion. Or, he had something more to say and was holding back. Then just like that, it was gone. “Yeah. Your mom’s a jewel, by the way.”

  
“Gem.”

  
“What?”

  
“The word you’re looking for is ‘gem’,” Dustin corrected.

  
“Don’t they mean the same thing,” Steve’s burgeoning irritation was predictable, yet music to Dustin’s ears.

  
“Yes, but the expression is _gem_ , dumbass. As in, my mom’s a _gem_.” Dustin graced him with a bored expression as if he were just so put-out by his endless explanations and Steve were just so stupid, but secretly he was enjoying the familiarity of their exchange as they slipped back into their easy banter. It was just what they did.

  
“Whatever, dipshit. You know what I mean,” Steve snappily dismissed him with a wave, smirking furtively but knowingly at him as they shared their own private joke.

  
“I know,” Dustin laughed. “I always do.”

  
El knitted her brow. “I…don’t get it.”

  
“I know you do,” Steve acknowledged, both of them too caught up with each other to offer El any clarification. The momentary diversion of their bickering already forgotten, Steve grew serious as he answered the question Dustin had asked beforehand. “Yeah, I can still hear everyone, but what I still don’t get is, why couldn’t I ever hear you?”

  
Dustin gestured around himself. “ _This_ is why.”

  
Steve just folded up his sunglasses and crossed his arms, patiently waiting for the full explanation.

  
Dustin sighed. “I wanted to wake you up this morning to say goodbye, but they wouldn’t let me. Told me to let you sleep. I don’t know if you would’ve been able to wake up anyway, truthfully, given the circumstances. You’ve always managed before, though. Those few minutes in the morning have become so important to me and the thought that they’re gone forever just like that, and I didn’t get to tell you to your face…I…I couldn’t take that. You – you promised you’d wait for me.”

  
Steve spread his arms out, palms to the sky. “I did. Why do you think I’m here? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I like it here, but the Byers’ front yard isn’t exactly where I’d want to spend eternity. I’m here because you are, Dustin.”

  
“El helped me get here. If she hadn’t…I don’t know – I don’t know what I would’ve done,” Dustin rubbed a finger along the side of his nose. “I just had to see you and talk to you one last time. It probably seems dumb to you now given that you can hear us – could’ve heard _me_ , but I still wouldn’t have been able to hear _you_. And I just couldn’t let you go without saying goodbye.”

  
“Do you think you can now,” Steve posed. “Let me go?” There was no judgement in his question, just curiosity and concern.

  
“I don’t – I don’t know? I know I _have to_ , though. I know that much. I just don’t know _how_ ,” Dustin admitted candidly.

  
“I had trouble with that one, too,” Steve confessed, stepping so close to him that the toes of their sneakers were touching. “How can I make it easier for you?”

  
“Jesus, Steve…”

  
“What? What’d I say,” Steve was genuinely confused.

  
“You’re the one fucking _dying_ , and you’re…”

  
“I’m serious, Dusty. How can I make this easier for you,” Steve repeated gently.

  
“I don’t think you can,” Dustin shrugged, trying to sound matter-of-fact and unaffected, but the forlorn tone in his voice was unmistakable.

  
Steve’s demeanor changed from merely crestfallen to downright grief-stricken. Dustin was bitterly disappointed in himself – angry even - for not being able to come up with something else – _anything_ \- to put Steve’s mind at ease. All Steve was trying to do was help Dustin by guiding him through this traumatic experience as best he could with compassion and kindness despite what Steve himself was going through. Dustin was disgusted with himself for simply not being strong enough to be there for Steve when he needed him the most instead of the other way around. He felt he had failed his friend in the worst possible way. Steve was once again binding up someone else’s wounds while seemingly disregarding his own grievous injuries. Steve wasn’t just losing someone he loved. He was losing his _life_.

  
“Listen, Dusty…don’t look so guilty for being honest. You’ve been like a rock for me this whole time and I can’t tell you what it meant to have you there with me even when things were at their shittiest, but you don’t always gotta be. It’s okay to not be strong all the time. _You_ taught me that. And you don’t have to pretend with me, alright? There isn’t time for all that bullshit anyway. So, I’ll be straight with you, too. You know, earlier? When I said I could hear you all? That wasn’t all of it. Not the whole truth.” Steve gripped Dustin’s shoulders, seeking out his eyes with his own earnest gaze. Steve hesitated, looking unbelievably sad and almost…apologetic. “I can feel you, too. But um, that’s not all.”

  
Dustin’s head snapped up in sudden, sickening comprehension. “If you can feel us, you can feel what’s happening to you, too. All the pain. The breathlessness. All of it.”

  
Steve nodded so very slowly and reluctantly. The words fell from his lips so softly and carefully, as if they were composed of the most fragile glass whose filaments would explode and shatter on contact. “Yeah. I fought as long as I could, but…I just want it to be over. I can’t do it anymore. I’m so sorry, Dusty.”

  
Both boys were openly crying a little. Dustin brought his hands up to rest on Steve’s forearms. “Please, don’t be sorry, Steve. You of all people have nothing to apologize for. The things you’ve gone through…the things you’ve had to stand…I don’t want that for you. And I know you don’t, either.”

  
“I don’t. I just really, really want it to be over, but it’s like – it’s like I can feel these invisible…strings? I don’t know, something that’s holding me here?”

  
“Tethers?”

  
“Yeah, that’s it. Tethers. One by one they’re snapping, and I feel myself getting closer. But there’s one – one big one…” Steve turned his head to the side to wrestle for control of his emotions that were gradually overwhelming him.

  
“It’s me, isn’t it? I’m the tether,” Dustin whispered, horrified that he could be in some way responsible for Steve’s tenacious hold on life and delaying his relief from the agony.

  
“Yeah. Yeah, I think so.” Steve pressed the back of his hand up against his nose and blinked long and hard to suppress the increasing burning behind his eyes at his tormented confession. The distraught revelation was almost too much to bear, and Steve struggled to push the words out, his voice brittle and breaking. “My body’s shutting down, but, um…in the meantime. It’s just – it hurts so much. It’s so bad and I don’t know how much more I can stand. I’m so tired. So, so tired and in more pain than you can imagine. I’m ready for it to finally end. I know it’s gonna happen one way or another, but it would give me peace to know that that you’re ready, too. That you’re gonna be okay. I know it’s a lot to ask, but as your friend and brother, can you do that one last favor for me?”

  
Dustin’s whole face sort of…collapsed – each muscle falling one by one like dominoes until it spread throughout his entire body which crumpled under the weight of the tears. He pulled Steve to him for the last time. “I’m gonna miss you so much. I don’t think I’ll be able to breathe. It’ll be the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do in my whole life and ever will, but I would do anything in the universe and beyond for you, Steve. I hope you know that and always have.”

  
“I’ve never doubted it.” Steve squeezed him back hard, breaking down right along with Dustin and lingering in the hug as long as possible. It was difficult to get the words out, but he had to. “And I told you before, but I want you to really remember it: The best day of my whole life was when you badgered me into looking for D’Art with you. It totally changed the trajectory of my entire life. And I wouldn’t have changed a second of it – even the bad stuff. The crazy interdimensional monsters, the cancer. None of it. Because of all that stuff, but mostly because of you I got to be the person I always wanted to be and got what I wanted most out of this life – a family.”

  
Dustin fisted the material of Steve’s jacket in his hands, relishing in the feel of Steve solid and real and present beneath his hands and cheek for a few more stolen moments. “I just guided you in the right direction. You got it all on your own just by being yourself. You didn’t need some middle schooler’s help to become the person you already were inside. And anybody that knows you can’t help but love you. We _all_ love you, Steve because, face it, you’re just that loveable. And irreplaceable. There’s never going to be another you, dumbass.”

  
Steve brought a hand up to ruffle Dustin’s hair, but as usual it was hindered by his cap. “You’re pretty unique and special yourself, dipshit. Don’t let anyone tell you different. You think I’d choose just anyone to be best friends and honorary brothers with? I have impeccable taste and don’t you forget it.”

  
“I won’t,” Dustin’s voice was muffled by the material. “And if I meet a girl I like?”

  
“Just show her you don’t care.”

  
“I don’t care,” Dustin echoed.

  
“That’s it. You’re learning, my friend.” Steve beamed at the shared memory and gave Dustin’s covered hair one final, fond tussle, but didn’t step back from the hug entirely just yet. “Thank you, Dustin. Really. For everything. I couldn’t have done any of this without you. You made all of it more bearable. Just know that. And please, tell everyone else that they did, too and thank them for me. Also, thank them for the things they said to me. It meant a lot. And don’t leave out the part that I love them very much, too.”

  
“I do know, Steve. I know and I’ll make sure to tell them,” Dustin assured him as Steve started backing away, but their hands still remained loosely attached to one another’s. “And thank you for everything, too, Steve. I’m going to tell your story. Tell the whole world just how awesome my best friend and big brother were. _Are!_ How he saved my life, gave me advice, drove me around, taught _me_ to drive, gave the best hugs, what a fighter he was and…how much I miss him every day. All of it! I promise, I won’t forget you.”

  
Steve pointed at him as he inched away, too choked up at first to speak. He bit his lip and gave Dustin one last smile. “I am absolutely counting on that, buddy. I love you, man.”

  
“I love you, too, Steve,” Dustin watched Steve acknowledge that sentiment with a salute before pivoting on his heel and walking away. It was bittersweet. Dustin had gotten to see and speak to Steve exactly like he had wished and hoped for - and even got to experience a final hug - but it really was for the last time. There wouldn’t be anymore – in this life, anyway. But the one true solace that Dustin clung to was Steve would finally be free of all the sickness and pain that had plagued him for almost the last quarter of his life. Steve would finally be whole and healthy again.

  
As Steve’s outline grew smaller and smaller as it faded into the distance, Dustin may have imagined it, but there was almost a golden glow – an aura – that surrounded Steve. The brightest points were emanating from his shoulder blades and ringing his head like a…halo. Maybe he had spent too much time in this reality, but Dustin chose to believe that he wasn’t hallucinating or that it wasn’t just a trick of this world’s sun. It gave him a little comfort to think of Steve in that way.

  
Dustin determinedly set his jaw and prepared to do what Steve had requested of him. In one last final act of love, Dustin would let Steve go. It would hurt like hell, and probably always would, but he could do that much for his friend. Grabbing El’s hand again, he simply said, “I’m ready.”

  
The blood trickled down from both of El’s nostrils as the pair snapped back to the Byers’ living room from their journey. It had taken a lot more out of her than usual, but it had been worth it. After yanking off her blindfold, she wiped away the matching crimson trails. Dustin practically tackled her into a fierce hug. “Thank you,” he whispered in her ear so only she could hear. “Thank you, El.”

  
As Dustin removed his own blindfold, everyone in the room could see the rivers of fresh tear tracks, but there was something else there that had been notably absent before - a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips.

  
“I think it worked,” Joyce gasped as her hand flitted up to her neck and then to her mouth.

  
Dustin rose from his place on the floor and addressed them all. “Boy, did it. I have a message from Steve. Well, _messages_ , plural. He says to tell you all ‘thank you for everything’ and that he appreciates what you said to him. And…he loves you all.”

  
At Dustin’s wondrous news, Joyce launched herself into Hopper’s arms, the latter of which whose heart twanged with a mixture of elation and grief over the confirmation that Dustin and El were successful in making contact with Steve. Perhaps even more amazing was that Steve was aware of their presence at his bedside, but that also presumably meant that he was aware of other more unpleasant things.

  
Jonathan pulled Nancy closer as she cried out, her own hand flying up to her mouth in reflex. “Dustin, are you saying – that he actually – he _heard_ us?”

  
“Yeah, Nance.” Dustin called her by the nickname that Steve had originally used for her and had subsequently caught on over the years, and it brought on a fresh onslaught of tears. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. He can hear us. And feel us.”

  
“Oh God, Steve…,” Nancy sobbed out, extricating herself from Jonathan’s hold to clasp onto Steve’s hand. “We’re here.”

  
“He knows. And he’s ready,” Dustin declared to them resolutely, shifting his eyes from one person to the next and holding their gaze for a moment before moving on to make sure they not only heard him, but understood what he meant. “He can feel us, like I said, but that means he can feel everything else, too. Like pain. Even with the continuous infusion, he’s still in an awful lot of pain. Like, way too much. Mrs. Byers? Hopper? Can we give him something else to take it away so he doesn’t hurt so bad? I don’t want Steve to have to suffer anymore.”

  
“Yeah. The nurse said we could, that it wouldn’t hurt anything to give him more. I should’ve – sooner - yeah. Yeah, of course,” Joyce breathed out flustered, hurriedly drawing up an extra dose into the syringe and delivering it immediately into the tubing. When she was finished, her hand lingered lovingly against Steve’s waxen cheek. “Oh, sweetheart…”

  
Dustin lowered the railing and climbed into the bed, settling his body against Steve’s left side. He didn’t want the last thing that Steve felt to be pain, but the comfort and love of his family. Dustin placed a hand over Steve’s heart to mark the very moment he slipped away.

  
Realizing with heartbreaking clarity what Dustin’s intentions were, Nancy never once let go of Steve’s hand and implored Jonathan with her eyes to do the same. Jonathan placed his own hand above Nancy’s on Steve’s wrist. El followed suit and curled up beneath Dustin’s feet. Joyce stayed by Steve’s head on the opposite side, her hand migrating up from his cheek to stroke his hair like she so often did to calm and soothe him. Max laid her head on Robin’s shoulder as they both reached out to clutch Steve’s other hand and wrist with their own. Each and every one of them had taken a page from Dustin’s book and followed his lead in some way. Wherever they could find a place, they held on to Steve in the hopes that the feel of their presence would offer him comfort in his last moments and he would be able to carry the imprint of their loving touches with him into the next life.

  
Hopper was the last to do so. He slowly stepped his way in between Joyce and the other two girls, letting his palm come to rest on Steve’s shoulder in the tenderest fatherly manner he ever had. He lowered his mouth to Steve’s ear so that no one else could hear and murmured, “I knew you’d get there. You did good, kid. You did real good. Everyone’s safe. You can rest now. It’s time to go home.”

  
Steve’s lashes fluttered ever so slightly and delicately against the purple shadows of his closed eyelids. The rise and fall of his chest was spaced out and wildly irregular. Steve’s breath stuttered once, twice, three times before pausing for far too long. Hopper bowed his head, pressing his forehead into the hand that rested on Steve’s shoulder. He closed his eyes against the tears that threatened to fall.

  
The breaths were increasingly shallow and asynchronous. The fog on Steve’s oxygen grew fainter and fainter. Joyce alternated between burying her fingers in Steve’s hair and hugging the top of his head to her chest and kissing his temple. “It’s okay, sweetheart. You’re gonna be okay soon.”

  
There was an erratic, forceful gasp followed by a strained sigh. Then another. And another. Joyce held Steve tighter to her. “Oh, sweetheart. Oh, baby. We’ve got you. We’ve got you…”

  
Beneath Dustin’s palm, the rhythmic thumping slowed and weakened until he could barely feel the beats anymore. Steve’s muscles gradually relaxed underneath all their hands and his features eased into a more tranquil visage. The few remaining sighs that escaped became quieter and quieter until they were little more than a whispered breath before ceasing altogether.

  
And then it was still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I did it. I finally got this part out with his death. It was difficult, to say the least. And I'm curious as to what everyone thinks. Too sappy? Cliche? Spot on? I had intended to include the funeral in this part, but it grew to be so long that I will have to include it in the epilogue. It will be coming, but the reason this part took so long was that my laptop died. I got it limping along for the time being - but barely. And I've had a few hiccups in my health. I'm better, but have a check up next week, so...fingers crossed! I really hope I was able to do a little bit of justice to this part and make it realistic and emotional without stepping over the line, and that it was enjoyable, for lack of a better word. And I wish everyone the best! Until next time...for the final part!

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this fiction moved you in some way. It was a little uneven in terms of POV and emotions, but that was somewhat intentional. Finding out you have cancer sends you on a rollercoaster of emotions which is something, unfortunately, that I have some experience with. This can just be a one-shot or expanded to a full length story if there's any interest. I do have plans to include the rest of the characters and ideas for where the story could go. I hope everyone is staying healthy and happy reading!


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